The Importance of Ancient Runes
by silvernatasha
Summary: Starting his sixth year at Hogwarts, Blaise Zabini is content. He passed his OWLs with no trouble and is looking forward to NEWTs. Then Hermione Granger walks into Ancient Runes and changes everything. BlaiseHermione.
1. In Which Slytherin Rules Are Made

**Disclaimer:** _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._   
**Author's Note:** _Apart from a couple of cookies, this is my first Blaise Zabini/Hermione Granger fanfic. New territory is always exciting, though, so this is dedicated to the shipmates aboard the HMS Overworked and Underappreciated over at FictionAlley. glomps   
Please read and review - constructive critisism is highly appreciated._

* * *

**THE IMPORTANCE OF ANCIENT RUNES   
Chapter One in Which Slytherin Rules Are Made to Be Bent**

* * *

"It's 'Heaven', not 'Sky'."

Blaise Zabini's head snapped up from where he had been working diligently on his Ancient Runes homework. Standing behind him and peering over his shoulder was Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's golden girl and supreme know-it-all.

"Excuse me?"

"The rune. It could be either, but in the context, it's 'Heaven'. It changes the changes the meaning drastically if you use 'sky' and doesn't really make a lot of sense."

He scowled. She was criticising his work! Blaise prided himself on his work in Ancient Runes, his favourite subject: he had even received an E for his Ancient Runes OWL and now Hermione Granger was daring to correct his translation.

Looking down at the piece of parchment, Blaise quickly re-read what he had translated so far. What was even worse than being corrected by Hermione Granger was Hermione Granger being right.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked bluntly. "Come to think of it, why are you looking over my shoulder in the first place?"

She looked affronted, and took a step backwards. "If you must know," she said haughtily with a shake of her bushy brown hair, "you were mumbling to yourself and I came over here to tell you to be quiet; I'm trying to work, you know."

"What a surprise - you're always working."

"At least I don't talk to myself," was her retort. "Good day to you." With this, she strode off, back to the table where she had been working; Blaise had not noticed her before, owing to the fact that she was obscured from view by a large pile of books. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise could read the spines of several of them: they appeared to be dictionaries of various languages. The top of Granger's head could just be seen over the top of the pile, moving slightly as she wrote.

With a groan of frustration, Blaise scribbled over the work 'sky', writing in the correct translation above it. He would have to write the translation out neatly later. Not that it would look much neater than this version: Pansy Parkinson had once said that she expected that if you dipped a spider in ink and let it run over a piece of parchment, it would be indistinguishable from Blaise's handwriting.

He never had liked Pansy much.

Now that he had changed that one word, the rest of the runes seemed to make much more sense, much to Blaise's annoyance. He just hoped that none of the other Slytherins heard about this. He would never live it down.

Blaise was so engrossed in his work that he did not notice Millicent Bulstrode take a seat opposite him. It was only when she cleared her throat that he was aware of her presence. "Afternoon," she said smartly. Blaise echoed her greeting, as he concentrated on trying to work out one of the runes; he knew what it meant but, for the moment, the knowledge escaped him.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked, pulling her Transfiguration book from her bag.

"Granger."

"Ah. The cause of all life's problems. Hermione Granger. What did she do now?"

"Corrected my work."

"And that's a bad thing how?"

"Because I shouldn't need correcting," Blaise said exasperatedly. "I'm supposed to be good at Ancient Runes."

"Anything you can do, she can do better."

"You're not helping, Millicent."

"I wasn't trying to."

"Remind me why I'm friends with you again," he asked.

"No-one else will have you."

"That's because you scare them off."

* * *

The sixth year Ancient Runes class was a great deal smaller than it had been in previous years, due to the fact that many students had given up the subject after OWLs. To be honest, Blaise had been quite surprised that Hermione Granger had not taken the class. However, he supposed she was probably aiming to become an Auror or something foolish like that and would not need the subject.

With only seven people in the class, Blaise was not the only Slytherin; Theodore Nott, a rather odd boy also took the subject. Something of a loner, Blaise had not spoken to him a great deal since first year, despite the fact that they shared a dormitory. The rest of the class was predominantly Ravenclaw - Lisa Turpin, a girl with white blonde hair and permanent ink stains on her fingers, her friend Mandy Brocklehurst, who would not stop talking, Terry Boot, a studious, bookwormish type and Michael Corner, to whom Blaise did not think that he had even spoken. The only Hufflepuff was a Muggleborn by the name of Justin Finch-Fletchley. As a rule of thumb, Slytherins did not associate with Muggleborn students, no matter what their house affiliation was. This suited both Blaise and Justin, as Justin seemed to regard Blaise and Theodore as though they carried infectious diseases.

In the second week of term, however, about a week after she had corrected his work in the library, Hermione Granger arrived in the classroom, about fifteen minutes into the lesson. Looking up from his textbook, Blaise watched as the Gryffindor prefect had a short conversation with Professor Mayfair, handing her a piece of parchment.

From his seat near the back of the class, Blaise heard Mayfair said, "You've very good choice, Miss Granger. It'll be good to have you back in my class."

Blaise's eyes widened. She was joining the class? What? No! Did they let people change subjects? Was it still too late for him to move subjects? On second thoughts, Blaise needed Ancient Runes if he was going to go into a career in curse breaking.

As Hermione took a seat at the desk next to Michael Corner, Blaise groaned inwardly. When the class had been larger, it had been easier to ignore her - that Hufflepuff girl, Susan something was just as eager to give answers, even if she was not always right like Hermione.

Surprisingly, she was quiet for the rest of the lesson, as she tried to catch up on the work that she had missed during the two weeks since the beginning of term.

Her very presence was infuriating, and Blaise felt a rush of joy when the bell rang at the end of the lesson. How dare she intrude of the one area of his life that was Gryffindor free? Ravenclaws he could handle. Hufflepuffs were easy to ignore. Ancient Runes had been the one lesson with no Gryffindors in sight, and she had to go and ruin that, didn't she?

Deciding to head back to the Slytherin common room before going to lunch - his bag was rather heavy with all the books he had needed for his morning lessons of Ancient Runes and Potions - Blaise heard someone call out his name.

"Zabini! Erm, Blaise?"

Oh no. Anyone but her. "What do you want, Granger?" he demanded, spinning around to face her and consequently making himself dizzy.

"You dropped your quill," she said, almost apologetically. She handed him the eagle feather quill wordlessly, and turned on her heel and went in the opposite direction.

Blaise looked at the quill. He supposed that he had been a bit rude to her. Then again, she was a Gryffindor and would have undoubtedly been just as rude to him given the chance.

Hang about - she had just had the perfect chance to rebuke him or complain about how Slytherins were all the same. Why hadn't she taken it?

Musing this over, he carried on his way to the Slytherin common room, heading to his dormitory. Storing his books neatly on the shelf beside his bed - he had been taught to treat books with respect - Blaise wondered how he would going to survive the year with Hermione Granger in his Ancient Runes class. She was not taking Potions, and she was in the other Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts were a couple of the few subjects which had garnered great interest from the sixth years when choosing their NEWTs subjects and so the students had been split into two classes of mixed ability.

So she was only going to be in one of four subjects. That was not _too_ bad and, realising that it was only about five hours a week, Blaise relaxed considerably.

The next Ancient Runes class was on Wednesday. Unfortunately, it was also a double lesson, meaning two hours in the presence of Granger. Dreading it, Blaise took his usual seat, immersing himself in chapter thirteen of his textbook until Professor Mayfair arrived. He was already in a foul mood, having woken up late and then having to go straight to Potions instead of having breakfast. As far as Blaise was concerned, breakfast equalled coffee. Without his morning dose, he was as good as useless and had so far managed to lose fifteen house points. In Potions. With Snape as his teacher.

Snape never took house points from his own house unless it was necessary. In this case, Blaise had managed to blow up his cauldron in an accident of which Neville Longbottom would have been proud. Not only that, but he had had to put up with snickering from Potter and the Weasley boy.

Much to Blaise's chagrin, Professor Mayfair was in an exceptionally sunny mood and announced with a smile that they would be working in pairs to translate various runes. Upon hearing this, Blaise looked around for Theodore. Rule number 77 of Slytherin house was one that was hammered into all first years during their first week: Slytherins should stick together under all circumstances. It was right up there along with rule number 56 in terms of importance: Slytherins do not wear puce.

No! Theodore was blatantly ignoring rule 77 and was currently collaborating himself with the Hufflepuff, Finch-Fletchley. _Doesn't Finch-Fletchley hate Slytherins?_ Blaise thought as he looked around the small class quickly. Lisa and Mandy were working together. So were Michael and Terry. Damn Ravenclaws. That meant the only person left was… Granger.

This day could seriously not get any worse.

"I suppose we're going to have to work together," Hermione said to him, moving to the desk next to his. If it was any consolation, she seemed as excited about the prospect of working with Blaise and he was about working with her.

Professor Mayfair presented them with the runic symbols that they were supposed to translate, and Hermione took no time in splitting the runes in two so that they could work on separate things. For once glad of her organisational skills, Blaise got to work, finding that the translation came easily to him. After a couple of minutes, he realised that Hermione was looking at him, her mouth working but no sound coming out.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply.

"I don't know what this rune is," she said, clearly embarrassed by the fact; her cheeks were tinged with pink. "I haven't quite caught up on all the work I've missed, you see, and I was wondering if you knew what it means."

"Why didn't you just ask me instead of sitting there looking at me like a goldfish?" Blaise asked, practically snatching the parchment from the desk in front of her.

"Because you looked like you were deep in concentration and I didn't want to bother you."

"Oh." He handed the piece of parchment back to her. In a gentler tone he added, "It's a variation of 'prosperity'. You'll have to put it in context to know exactly what it is."

"Thank you."

They continued to work in silence, ignoring the chatter of the other pairs. Professor Mayfair was sat at her desk, the large pile of parchment in front of her slowly diminishing as she marked essays. Once or twice, Blaise glanced up at her to she her sat there, eyes closed and brushing the end of her quill against her lip in a rhythmic pattern as she tried to remember the meaning of a rune.

Distracting as this was, Blaise forced himself to concentrate on the parchment in front of him. After nearly half and hour, he had finished translating the last few runes: _'and they all lived happily ever after.'_

"Finished yet, Granger?" he asked irritably.

"Just a sec," she mumbled, finishing her translation with a flourish of her quill. She handed him the parchment, which he placed above his. Reading it, he realised that it was a synopsis of a fairytale; he could not remember which. "Cinderella," Hermione supplied.

Know-it-all, Blaise thought. However, he did not voice this opinion aloud. "Professor, we've finished," he announced.

Professor Mayfair looked up, surprise written across her face. "Already? It was supposed to take you until the end of the lesson." The other students were looking at them curiously. "If you're sure I can have a look over it."

Hermione practically marched to the front of the classroom, presenting Mayfair with their work.

"It seems you _have_ finished," she said. She glanced up at the clock. There was still an hour left of the lesson. "Very well." Rummaging among the parchment on her desk, Professor Mayfair presented Hermione with two pieces of parchment. "You can get a start on your coursework for the rest of the lesson."

She nodded at Hermione's desk, telling her to go back to her seat. Hermione resumed her place next to Blaise, handing him one of the pieces of parchment without saying a word. Blaise read the parchment with interest, wondering what exactly his coursework would entail.

NEWT ANCIENT RUNES - First Year

As part of your NEWT course, you will be required to produce two extended essays, both of which will count towards your final grade. The first of these essays will be due at the end of January. To make life easier for you, I have prepared several essay titles from which you may select one. You must choose ONE title. A draft of your work is to be handed in before Halloween.

That seemed easy enough, Blaise decided, scanning the list of titles to see if there was one that caught his eye.

It has been said that Ancient Runes is a subject that will not assist anybody later in life. Discuss.

Urgh. Politics. There had been growing concern in the _Daily _Prophet recently that Hogwarts was teaching students subjects that would be useless once they were out in the 'real world'. No, that one was not for him. Further down the list he saw:

Discuss the multiple significances of the use runes in the war against Grindewald.

That could be interesting. There was practically a whole shelf in the library devoted to the fight against Grindewald in the earlier part of the century. Or what about:

Studying runes is considered a part of a well-rounded education. How far do you agree with this?

Wasn't that essentially the same as the first question? Blaise wrinkled his nose, reading the remaining questions. None of them looked particularly appealing; several of them were also extremely obscure. Grindewald it was, then.

"Professor!"

Next to Blaise, an eager hand had been thrust into the air. He winced inwardly. Even that one word grated on his nerves.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"How much historical context would I need to include in the question about Grindewald?"

Perfect. She was doing the same question as him. Was nothing sacred anymore?

* * *

Hogsmeade days were not Blaise's idea of entertainment. Hundreds of students roaming around the tiny village, chattering endlessly, not to mention the sight of dozens of lovesick teenagers. However, after Pansy Parkinson's mad cat Delilah had managed to smash every bottle of ink he owned and do something unspeakable to his quills, Blaise was forced to make the journey into the village.

Passing the fifth couple who were attached at the lips, Blaise pushed open the door to Quigley's Quills, a small bookshop just down from the lace nightmare that was Madam Puddifoot's. The shop was all odd angles, bookshelves filling strange nooks and crannies up to the ceiling. A pyramid of inkbottles was piled precariously on a rickety three-legged table.

Surprisingly, Blaise rather liked the place. It reminded him of his Aunt Vittoria's house, except with less cat hair.

As he carefully selected a couple of bottles of blue ink from the top of the pyramid, a bell rang, heralding the arrival of another customer. Out of curiosity, Blaise turned his head to see if it was anyone he knew. It was.

Hermione Granger gave him a small, polite smile before heading over towards the history books. Ignoring her, Blaise took two quills from the display and went to the counter where the owner of the shop was at leafing her way through a heavy-looking tome. Elizabeth Quigley was a woman with frizzy blonde hair and with what seemed like a purple ink stain on her cheek. She could have been any age between thirty and sixty, but, no matter how tempted Blaise was to ask her age, he held his tongue; his mother had taught him that it was rude to ask a woman her age.

"Mr Zabini, you haven't been here for a while. How's your cat?"

"Dead." How she seemed to remember him was beyond Blaise. Every time he had been into the shop since his third year, she had greeted him with the same sunny smile and inquired about his life in general.

"Oh dear. What a shame. That'll be one galleon and eleven sickles, please. Did you do well on your OWLs?"

"As well as can be expected." Blaise was not feeling in the mood for chitchat. He handed over two golden galleons.

"Good, good." She smiled broadly, pressing his change into his hand. Her fingers, topped by electric blue nails, were icy cold, and Blaise shuddered involuntarily. Elizabeth did not notice this, however, as she had turned her attention to Hermione Granger, who was now stood behind Blaise, clutching a couple of booking in her arms.

"Ah, Miss Granger. That book you requested has just come in!" Blaise started towards the door as Elizabeth ducked down beneath the counter, emerging a moment later with a book, which she put down with a slight _bang_. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise could not help but notice the title: _The History of the Animagus Transformation_.

"A bit of light reading, Granger?" he commented, not really knowing why.

"Something like that," she said absently, putting her other books on the counter and handing Elizabeth her money. Shrugging, Blaise pushed open the door and emerged out into the sunlight. What was that smell? Spotting an odd-looking brown mess in the middle of the street, Blaise assumed that someone had been setting off dungbombs. Lovely.

Sidestepping around the mess, Blaise paused to look in the window of the robe shop, Gladrags. Why anyone would think that puce robes were fashionable, Blaise could not fathom. Besides, Blaise was a Slytherin, and if he was to wearing anything in that colour he would be in violation of Slytherin rule number 56.

A sharp cry sounded behind Blaise, and he spun around, hand reaching for his wand. He relaxed when he saw it was only Hermione Granger. She was on the ground, clutching at her ankle, her face pale. The purple bag in which her new purchases were held was lying a few feet away.

Two options now faced Blaise. The first was to pretend he had neither heard nor seen Granger's fall. This would ensure minimal contact with the Gryffindor. The second was to enquire after her well-being. As tempted as Blaise was to pick the first option, he somehow found the words "Are you alright?" escaping his lips.

She looked surprised that he was speaking to her. "Yeah, I should be fine," she grumbled, trying to get to her feet. However, even Blaise could notice the wince of pain that crossed her face as she tried to exert pressure on her left foot.

"No you're not," Blaise found himself saying as he crossed over to her. "It looks like you've twisted your ankle."

"Thank you, Doctor Zabini," she said gruffly, trying to reach for her bag. Blaise beat her to it, and he held it at arms length so she could not reach it. For a brief moment, Blaise wondered what a 'doctor' was, but decided that perhaps she had banged her head as well and was now delusional as well as annoying.

"Give me my bag." She stood there awkwardly, almost balancing on one leg as she tried to keep the pressure from her left foot. Nevertheless, she managed a good glare, hands on hips.

"You're hurt. Let me help you back to the castle."

The Gryffindor looked at him suspiciously. "Why?" she asked.

"Because you're injured?" Blaise suggested. "Look, I'm going back there anyway; it's not exactly out of my way." She seemed to consider this for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Fine," she agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "I don't think I can walk too fast, though," she added. Blaise nodded, moving towards her so that he could act as a human crutch. As they started up towards the castle, she looked at him oddly. "Surely this must be breaching some Slytherin code of ethics?" she asked.

"How so?" he asked. His knuckles were beginning to turn white - he was carrying her newly bought books and they seemed to weigh a tonne.

"You're helping a Gryffindor. Not to mention a _Muggleborn_ Gryffindor."

"I suppose," Blaise agreed, trying to get some feeling back into his fingers. Hermione winced as she put her left foot down too hard. "But the rule that prohibits assisting Gryffindors can be overridden by the rule that states that no one should suffer needlessly."

"What about Malfoy?

"What about him?"

"He seems to like people to suffer. That seems fairly needless to me."

"Depends on your interpretation of 'needless'," Blaise corrected with a crooked grin. "Malfoy often feels the 'need' to be entertained and other people's suffering seems to be entertaining to him."

Back at Quigley's Quills, two set of eyes watched the scene unfold in front of the shop. The owner of the pair that was obscured behind half-moon shaped spectacles remarked, "I hope you're not injuring my students, Elizabeth."

"It's just a twist," Elizabeth remarked lightly. "Nothing that can't be fixed in a jiffy." She paused, a dreamy smile crossing her face. "Besides," she added. "I had to do _something_."

"Didn't your parents teach you not to interfere with other people's lives?"

She grinned. "Of course. But then my scheming uncle taught me that meddling can be a lot more fun. Wouldn't you agree, Uncle Albus?"

Albus Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile. "Certainly." He paused momentarily. "Speaking of your father, Elizabeth," he said, "please inform Aberforth that his owl made it all the way to Hogwarts but lost the letter it was bearing en route."

* * *

**Author's Note:** _Please read and review._ :) 


	2. In Which Hermione Makes a Deal with a Sn...

**Disclaimer:** _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._   
**Author's Note:** _Here is is, chapter two. I'm so glad to have had such positive reviews. Again, I'm going to dedicate this to the lovely people on the HMS O&U - may the cookie jar always be overflowing and Blaise never run out of coffee._

* * *

**THE IMPORTANCE OF ANCIENT RUNES   
Chapter Two: In Which Hermione Makes a Deal with a Snake**

* * *

At the doors of the Hospital Wing, Hermione untangled herself from Blaise's support. "Thank you, Zabini," she said sincerely. "I'll see you in Ancient Runes." 

Without waiting for a reply, she pushed open the door and hobbled in, clearly not wanting the Slytherin's assistance for another minute. Shrugging, Blaise went back to the Slytherin common room, not realising that he was still clutching the bag with Hermione's new books in until he reached the dungeons.

After having her ankle healed by Madam Pomfrey - a tap of her wand and a sweet-smelling ointment - Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower, glad to kick off her shoes - the new shoes she was wearing had enhanced the discomfort of her twisted ankle. There were red marks on the back of her heels from where they had rubbed, and she inspected these as she curled up in a chair in the common room. She winced slightly as she prodded one of the marks, wondering if it was worth putting a spell on her shoes to make them more comfortable.

However, after remembering what had happened to a seventh year that had done a similar thing a week or so earlier - her shoes had exploded - Hermione decided against it. She rather liked her new shoes, even if they did pinch a bit.

There were only a few other students in the common room; a couple of second years were playing an exuberant game of wizards chess, watched by their friends, and a small first year boy who seemed to be drowning in parchment as he attempted to tackle his homework. She smiled to herself, remembering herself at that age. Harry and Ron joked that she was as bad as ever, but she disagreed. Anyway, now that they were in sixth year they were fewer subjects. Hermione was taking five: Charms, Ancient Runes, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and a new subject, Modern and Magical Languages. She had originally been taking Arithmancy, but had changed to Ancient Runes after a 'slight disagreement' with the new professor. Professor Vector had retired at the end of the previous term and had been replaced by someone to whom Hermione had taken an immediate disliking. Whether it was her annoying, honey-coated voice or the fact that she called all of the students in the class 'darling', Hermione was not entirely sure.

Actually, the 'slight disagreement' had involved raised voices on both accounts, resulting in a fleeing of the classroom. Seeing the professor run from the room, crying, Hermione had dubbed that one of the highlights of her time at Hogwarts. Indeed, it came a close second to that spectacular slap she had given Draco Malfoy in third year; she could still clearly see the look on his face after she had done it and whenever he resorted to vulgar insults, all she had to do was close her eyes and she could see it.

Modern and Magical Languages was a class only offered at NEWT level, and students who wanted to take it were required to take an exam to show that they were competent at language acquisition. The class was extremely small and consisted of only five students. Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst were perfectly agreeable, Daphne Greengrass was a surprisingly pleasant Slytherin and Seamus Finnegan was the wild card: on the first day, even the professor had been surprised to see him in the class. They were currently studying Mermish and French; apparently, there were several linguistic similarities between the two languages.

She reached for her new books. Quite obviously, they were not there, and she groaned inwardly. That meant that Blaise Zabini still had them. Shoving her feet painfully back into her shoes, Hermione pushed open the portrait.

"Off again, dear?" the Fat Lady asked.

"Unfortunately," Hermione mumbled, as the portrait swung shut. It was only as she padded down the corridor in the dungeons that she realised she was not entirely sure of the location of the Slytherin common room. Ron and Harry had been there before, in the second year, but she had not; the Polyjuice incident was best left unmentioned. She could sometimes even feel a phantom tail, a very peculiar sensation indeed. Then there was the second problem: even if she did find the Slytherin common room, she had no way of actually getting in there to retrieve her books from Zabini.

She turned a corner, which took her deeper into the dungeons. The portraits that hung on the walls seemed to be whispering amongst themselves as she passed them, and she had a faint idea that they were saying something along the lines of "Why is a Gryffindor down in this part of the school?"

After wandering around for about half an hour, she heard a familiar voice, a smirk almost audible. "What's a Gryffindor like you doing down here, Granger?"

Turning around, Hermione found Draco Malfoy stood in the middle of the corridor, a simpering Pansy Parkinson hanging off his arm, a sickly sweet smile on her pale face. Hermione wondered if Malfoy had any other facial expressions apart from 'annoying smirk' and 'superior smirk'.

"I need to see Zabini," Hermione told him flatly. She was too tired to bother trading insults, no matter how appealing that might have seemed. Besides, her feet were hurting.

"What do you want with him," a sneering Pansy asked.

"He has something of mine. Could you get him for me?"

"What's in it for me?" Malfoy asked, showing what Hermione assumed must have been another facial expression in his repertoire: 'sleazy smirk'. Pansy swatted him on the arm, giggling.

"Draco," she cooed, attempting, Hermione assumed, to sound bashful.

"_Malfoy_," Hermione said impatiently. She did not have time for this; there were books to be read and rules to be kept.

"Fine, don't get your knickers in a twist, Granger," he snapped, striding over to the wall, where he leant in close to the bricks. She saw his lips move slightly as he whispered the password. The entrance to their common room opened and Pansy went in. "Wait out here," Malfoy told Hermione.

"Just get Zabini."

When the entrance sealed up behind him, Hermione could not help but wonder whether he was actually going to fetch Zabini or just leave her waiting in the corridor. However, a couple of minutes later the entrance opened again, and Zabini wandered out, an open book in his hands.

"Y'know this is fascinating stuff," he remarked slyly, snapping the book shut. Hermione grabbed it from him, her nails accidentally scraping his skin. He pulled a face, retracting his hands. "No need to be so violent."

"Where are my other books?"

He jerked his head in the direction of his common room, clearly with no intention of actually going to retrieve them.

"Go and get them." Hermione was not impressed.

"I don't really think that I can be bothered."

"_Zabini_."

The Slytherin rolled his eyes and sauntered back into his common room. Emerging a minute later, he handed the two other books to Hermione. "What I want to know," he said airily, "is why you're reading a book about Animagi."

"I'm doing Transfiguration," she told him, pursing her lips. Was he going to get her books or not?

"I have it on fairly good authority that the Animagus transformation isn't studied at NEWT level." Millicent was a veritable fountain of knowledge when it came to that particular subject: as far as Transfiguration was concerned, no Slytherin was more ambitious than Millicent, and she had turned that annoying Slytherin girl from her dormitory, Tracey Davis, into a pig on more than one occasion. She, however, had received three nights' worth of detention after the first time she had done it and Professor McGonagall had had to remove the spell.

"It's a bit of light reading," she told him tartly.

Blaise gave a derisive snort. "Light reading? That book weighs as much as a small child."

"What I read in my spare time is of no concern to you, Zabini," Hermione said. Why was he so irritating? "Have a nice afternoon," she added. Politeness never hurt anyone.

"Same to you," Blaise said smartly, disappearing back into the Slytherin common room. Hermione was left in the corridor, holding her books. _He's right_, she thought idly, _this book does weigh a fair bit. _Pushing all thoughts of this rather odd Slytherin from her mind, Hermione made her way back to Gryffindor Tower. How the Slytherins managed to live in the dungeons was beyond her.

Inside the Slytherin common room, Blaise found Draco and Pansy waiting for him. For a fleeting moment, he found himself comparing them to vultures, waiting to attack their prey. The two Slytherin prefects eyed him beadily, waiting to speak.

"What did Granger want with you?" Draco snapped, eye narrowing in suspicion.

"I stole her books," Blaise explained languidly, flopping onto a sofa and swinging up his legs. Was it just him or was the sofa particularly lumpy today?

"And you gave them back?" Pansy asked, incredulously, her dark eyes wide. "What did you want to do a thing like that for? You could have tormented her for _days_." She seemed to be most put out by the thought of Blaise's kindness.

"Think of the possibilities you've wasted, Blaise," Draco added, shaking his head in disbelief at Blaise's apparent stupidity. "You could have made her work to get them back." He raised a blond eyebrow. "I'm sure that mouth of hers is good for something, if you know what I mean."

Blaise, however, ignored the lewd comment from the Malfoy heir. He did not even want to _think_ about Granger in that way. "Didn't seem worth the effort." Blaise reached for a small, brightly coloured, rectangular box. "Exploding Snap, anyone?"

* * *

When Hermione had told Blaise that she was reading _The History of the Animagus Transformation_ for a bit of light reading, she had not exactly been telling the truth. She had not been blatantly lying, either: it was not required of her to read the book, but she was doing so to improve her knowledge of the subject. 

Whilst staying at Grimmauld Place for the last week of the summer - a place that felt dreadfully empty without Sirius' presence - she had come across a lively discussion between Professor McGonagall and Tonks. They had been debating about which was better: being an Animagus or being a Metamorphmagus. Upon spotting Hermione, Tonks had asked her opinion to which Hermione had replied, somewhat reluctantly, that she had always found the Animagus transformation particularly fascinating.

Tonks did not speak to her for three hours after this, and when she had tripped over and managed to spill ink on one of Hermione's neatly written essays, Hermione was not sure whether it had been entirely accidental.

A day later, Professor McGonagall had approached Hermione. She offered to aid Hermione to become an Animagus, the obvious subtext to her proposal being that it would be good for the Order to have another person with the ability working for it. Without even pausing to think, Hermione had agreed. Since she had returned to Hogwarts, Hermione met Professor McGonagall almost every evening and the Head of Gryffindor had assured Hermione that she was making great progress.

Hermione was not so inclined to agree - she had yet to make the transformation, and was growing increasingly frustrated. However, she reminded herself, she had only been trying for less than two months. McGonagall had explained that it had taken her nearly three years before she had been able to change into her feline form.

Settling down in a chair in the corner of the common room, Hermione immersed herself in _The History of the Animagus Transformation_. By the time that Harry and Ron returned from Hogsmeade, both clutching bags bearing the Zonko's logo, she was on chapter five: Amphibious Animagi.

"You alright, Hermione?" Harry asked, sitting in a chair next to her. She looked up from her book to see the black haired Gryffindor staring at her, concern written across his face.

"Yes, I'm fine. Why?"

"Neville said he saw you trip over in Hogsmeade."

"Oh, that," she mused. "It was nothing that Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix in less than a minute."

"How did you get back to the castle?" Ron asked, suspicion colouring his tone. A faint redness had already begun to creep over his freckled face.

Hermione frowned. "Someone helped me. I couldn't very well walk with a twisted ankle, could I?"

"Who?" Ron's eyes were narrowed, and Hermione suddenly felt self-conscious. Should she tell them? Then again, what harm would it do?

"Blaise Zabini. I don't think you know him."

"A Slytherin?" Harry sounded astounded. Ron turned a peculiar shade of red at this discovery.

"So you _do_ know him."

"He's a Slytherin, Hermione!"

"Really, Ron? I hadn't noticed." Hermione looked at him carefully. "Seriously, Ron, it's nothing to get worked up about; I tripped over, he helped me back to Hogwarts. It's not like I'm involved in a sordid love affair with him."

Ron's face turned so red at this comment that his eyebrows seemed to be white. Whether this was because of the idea that Hermione could be romantically involved with a Slytherin or because Hermione had used the words 'sordid love affair', Hermione could not quite tell.

"Did he do anything to you?" Harry asked seriously.

"He stole my new books." Hermione gave a light shrug. "I got them back, though," she added, seeing the tell-tales signs that indicated Harry's temper was beginning to flare. Slytherins had a tendency to rile him up more than anything else did. Well, _almost_ anything else. "Why are you two being so overprotective? I'm quite capable of looking after myself."

The Boy Who Lived looked downcast. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't mean to be overbearing. It's just… you're one of the closest things I have to family and I don't want to… because of…" He trailed off, eyes cast down to the floor.

Hermione understood. Since they had returned to Hogwarts, Hermione was sure that Harry had uttered Sirius' name less than a dozen times. She and Ron had come to an agreement that they would not mention his death, as Harry seemed not to want to talk about it. She nodded.

"Have you heard from Tonks lately?" she asked quietly, referring to the young, albeit clumsy, Auror, who was the daughter of Sirius' favourite cousin, Andromeda. She was one of the youngest - and possibly craziest - members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's secret alliance of wizards who opposed Voldemort.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking up at her. "They found his will." He seemed momentarily amused. "It was behind his mother's portrait."

"What'd it say?" Ron breathed, leaning forward.

Harry removed his glasses, polishing them with the edge of his robes. "He left the house to me. It's in Tonks' name until I'm eighteen, though." The news that his godfather had bequeathed Grimmauld Place to him did not seem to please Harry in slightest.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked quizzically as Harry replaced his glasses.

"It's like he knew something was going to happen to him!" Harry said exasperatedly.

"He was just taking precautions, Harry," Hermione said diplomatically. "He obviously wasn't as carefree as he'd like everyone to think - he was just looking out for you."

"I s'pose," Harry grumbled, seeing the logical side to Hermione's statement. "I still don't like it, though."

"No reason why you should," Ron said, rubbing his arm. Hermione cast a sad look at the redhead's arms - hidden underneath his jumper were scars from when he had been attacked by the brains in the Department of Mysteries. They had all been marked in some way by that night at the Ministry; Harry emotionally by the loss of his godfather, Ron both physically and emotionally by those brains, and the curse that the Death Eater had hit Hermione with had also left its mark.

"So what did you two buy in Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked, sensing that it would be a good idea to shift the topic of conversation.

Ron grinned. "Stuff that we probably shouldn't tell a prefect about," he admitted.

"_You're_ a prefect too, Ron," Hermione reminded him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in an embarrassed sort of way.

"Well, yeah," he said uneasily, "but I'm not a prefect-y as you, am I?"

"I suppose," Hermione agreed, pursing her lips. She was itching to tell Harry and Ron about her plans to become an Animagus, but Professor McGonagall had urged her not to tell anyone. By 'anyone', Hermione had surmised that the Head of Gryffindor meant 'Harry and Ron'. No doubt, the two of them would want to join in the process, and Hermione had to agree that it would enhance the chance of being found out if there were more people who knew.

* * *

"Quidditch is going to be better than ever this year," Ron announced at breakfast the following Monday. For a Monday morning, he was in a surprisingly good mood. His mood was, in fact, even better than Harry's was, even though Harry was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. 

Harry looked up at his friend through still-bleary eyes while reaching for a bowl of cornflakes. "What makes you say that?"

Ron looked at him incredulously, gaping at him. Hermione gazed up from her copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and said, "Close your mouth, Ron: you'll catch flies like that." He shut his mouth, although not before sticking his tongue out at her. Ginny, who was sat next to him, pulled a face, and continued talking to her current boyfriend, Dean Thomas.

"You mean you haven't heard?" Ron asked Harry.

"Heard what?"

"Malfoy's not playing this year."

Harry dropped his spoon. "_What?_"

Ron nodded eagerly. "Apparently, his broom has been confiscated because he got drunk on Saturday night and decided to set up a game of Quidditch in the Slytherin common room. Snape was _furious_. Course, instead of taking his prefect's badge, Snape just took his broom and told him that he wasn't allowed to play Quidditch for Slytherin 'until further notice'." Ron was smirking at this, looking extremely please. Even Harry looked relieved.

"But he's a prefect," Hermione said, "he should have known he was breaking at least a dozen school rules by consuming alcohol in the…"

"Give it a rest, Hermione." This came from Ginny, who had taken up on of the Chaser positions on the Gryffindor team. "Malfoy's not going to be playing Quidditch and that's all that matters."

Hermione looked at Ron. "How do you know all this, anyway?"

Ron coloured slightly. "I have my sources," he said, and this was all that he would say on the matter. He busied himself with eating his breakfast after this, and Hermione continued to read through the _Prophet_.

It was several minutes later, more like fifteen, actually, when Hermione looked at her watch and realised that she was going to be late for Ancient Runes. "I'd better be going," she said. "I'll see you all at lunch." There was a chorus of 'goodbye' from her friends, and Hermione set off at a fast pace to her classroom.

Just as she reached the top of the stairs to the corridor where her classroom was, she heard a shout of "Watch out!"

This was closely followed by a very male shout of "Granger!"

Zabini? She wondered a second before something red struck her and everything went black.

After this, the first thing that Hermione thought was _where is that smell of broccoli coming from?_ The second thing was _why does my head hurt?_

She cracked open an eye, and then opened the other. Everything was very white, and Hermione came to the realisation that she was in the Hospital Wing.

"She's awake," Hermione heard a familiar voice say. Turning her head, she was that Harry and Ron were sat beside her bed, Ron rooting through a bag of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans while Harry nudged him in the ribs.

Harry's red jumper clashes with Ron's hair, Hermione thought, although she did not voice this opinion. Instead, she asked, "Is this what it feels like when you get hit with a Bludger?"

"A Quaffle, actually." Neither Harry, nor Ron said this. In fact, the two stood upon seeing the speaker, and Hermione saw that Ron balled his fists.

"What are you doing here, Zabini?" Harry asked sharply.

The Slytherin, who was dressed entirely in black, sighed. "I came to bring Granger a copy of my notes from Ancient Runes and her homework."

"Homework? But it's only…" Hermione looked up at the clock on the wall of the Hospital Wing. It read six forty-five; she had been asleep all day. "Oh."

"Indeed," agreed Blaise.

"Why _you_?" asked Ron. "Couldn't anyone else have done it?"

Blaise shrugged. "I suppose so. However, I doubt if anyone else in the class will have realised that Granger would want to go over these notes before the test next lesson."

"Visiting hours are over," Madam Pomfrey announced, appearing at the side of Hermione's bed. "Everyone out. Miss Granger needs her rest."

"But she's only just woken up!" Ron protested, Harry echoing similar sentiments.

"You can see her when I release her in the morning," Madam Pomfrey said firmly. "Out, the both of you. You too, Mr Zabini."

"I need to explain Granger's homework to her."

The nurse pursed her lips. "Very well, you can have five minutes."

"Can we stay?" Ron asked hopefully.

"No." Madam Pomfrey was resolute.

Harry and Ron bid Hermione a reluctant goodbye, and Blaise took a seat beside Hermione's bed. "It's simple enough," he told her, handing her several pieces of parchment that were covered in his small, neat handwriting. "You have until this time next week to do it. Do you know the Type C Latvian runic alphabet?"

"Just about."

"It's in the textbook, if you need a reminder."

Hermione looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Why are you helping me?"

"I think I might be developing a conscience." He seemed appalled at the idea. "I saw what happened this morning and I wanted to check up on you."

"What happened to me? You said something about a Quaffle…?"

He smiled. "Ah, yes. That. The new Ravenclaw Keeper and a couple of the Chasers thought that it would be a good idea to practise their passing in the corridor. Obviously, their new Keeper is worse than your friend Weasley is. The Quaffle kind of hit you. Then you fell down the stairs."

"Oh." That would explain why she was aching all over. "How did I get to the Hospital Wing?"

The Slytherin actually looked rather sheepish. "I helped the Ravenclaws get you here. They were in floods of tears."

"And you comforted them?" Hermione was somewhat disbelieving.

"Hardly. I'm a Slytherin, not some bloody Hufflepuff."

"I should have known." She laughed slightly, but stop when a flash of pain seared across her chest; obviously, her fall had reawakened her Ministry of Magic injury. "Do you know why Pomfrey didn't wake me up."

"McGonagall came in just after we arrived. Told Pomfrey you needed your rest. Something about working hard recently."

Hermione sighed. "This is starting to become a regular occurrence, isn't it?" she asked, somewhat dismally.

"How so?"

"Me getting hurt and you helping me to the Hospital Wing."

"I think you're just getting clumsy."

"Getting hit by a Quaffle is hardly clumsiness."

"Well, then, you're just unlucky."

* * *

Several days later, Hermione was sat in her usual corner of the library. To tell the complete and utter truth, she was bored out of her skull. There were only so many times she could go over her Charms notes, and she was quickly reaching her threshold. While she enjoyed the subject, Hermione often wished that there was not so much theory to be learnt - she would never admit it to Harry and Ron, but she was far happier casting spells than writing intricate notes about them and their creation. 

Intricate notes were important, however, and Hermione prided herself on the organisation of the notes she took. If everyone took notes that were as good as hers, Hermione was convinced that more people would be scoring Os and Es in exams.

Putting down her quill, Hermione had a quick look around. There was no one else in sight, and a small smile crept onto her face.

Completely surrounded by towering bookcases, she allowed herself to relax, her concentration focussing on her Animagus form. It was there in the corner of her mind's eye, indistinct and blurry, but it was there nonetheless. She had the unerring feeling that it was something feline, although she did not know what exactly. Professor McGonagall said that her form would emerge over time, and so now Hermione closed her eyes, willing it to become clearer, willing herself to become the creature.

However, Hermione was interrupted from her thoughts by a distinct cough. Her eyes snapped open in alarm.

Blaise Zabini stood in front of her, face blank. The Slytherin slowly moved forward, not taking his eyes off her.

"Was it just me," he asked slowly, his tone curious, "or did your ears just change?"

The Gryffindor looked up at him defiantly. "It was you," she told him shortly, in clipped tones. "You must be seeing things; perhaps you should go to Madam Pomfrey?"

He shook his head. "I wasn't seeing things," he said decisively. Hermione continued to stare up at him, not breaking her gaze but at the same time willing _just go away, Zabini, don't think about this anymore and, whatever you do, don't put two and two together_.

Unfortunately for Hermione, Blaise was fairly competent when it came to mathematics. The book about Animagi and now this ear-changing incident clicked, and a sly smile slid across his face. "You're trying to become an Animagus."

It was not a question, merely a statement.

He also looked quiet interested, and sat down opposite Hermione, his blue eyes boring into her. _I thought he would have had brown eyes,_ Hermione wondered vaguely.

"Say anything to anybody and I will make sure that you can't have children, Zabini," she threatened quietly, ignoring this thought.

"How very original," Blaise commented wryly. He as still staring at her, elbows on the table and hands clasped together.

"I'm serious, Zabini," she told him in a low, hissing whisper. "No one can know about this."

"Fine," the Slytherin agreed sullenly. His eyes brightened however, and he added, "But you have to do something for me."

"Like what?" She looked apprehensive - Slytherins were not exactly praised in Gryffindor, after all, and making a deal with a snake did not strike her as a particularly good idea. On the other hand, if what she was trying to do got out, it was not just herself at risk.

"Teach me to become one too." Even Blaise was surprised that he was making this request, and he anxiously bit his bottom lip. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise and she shook her head vigorously.

"What? I can't! I wouldn't know where to start!"

"Teach me whatever you're being taught." It seemed simple enough in Blaise's mind. Of course, neither girls nor Gryffindors were simple, and Hermione Granger happened to be both.

"You're _mad_." She sat back in her chair, looking at him open-mouthed. "Why would you want to do that anyway?" she asked, surveying him carefully.

"Who wouldn't? You haven't grown up in this society, Granger, but being able to turn into an animal is every young wizard's dream. Besides," he added, "I probably have _some _talent, Granger - my grandfather is one." He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as he said this.

"Cogno Zabini," she said after a moment of consideration.

Blaise was impressed. "You've heard of him?"

She nodded, albeit only a small inclination of her head. "He's on the official register." She paused, and then shook her head. "I can't do this. You keeping quiet about this isn't… I mean, it's not enough, Zabini."

"Enough? You want more from me than my word?"

"Yes," was her simple reply.

Blaise slumped back in his chair in a most un-Slytherin-like manner. What could he offer her? There was nothing at which he was exceptionally good. Something on the table in front of Hermione caught his eye. It was a textbook for her Modern and Magical Languages class. A smile spread slowly onto his face. On second thoughts, there was _one_ thing. "I'll teach you Italian."

Whatever possessed Hermione to say what she did in reply to this eluded her completely.

"Fine."

* * *

**Author's Note:** _Much thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter one, including **ShimmeringEvil, Procella Nox-noctis, JeanB, IsLaNdMoChAgUrL, Fire Goddess, sarah, Merit Somnia, lochmon, SkoosiePants, HermyGWeasley, Louise, CarEtoDreaM, Kori, Chaos-Fyre-Elf31, Michiru Takamuni** and **i-h8-sclub**. Much love and coffee to you all._


	3. In Which Blaise Considers the Colour Gre...

**Disclaimer:** _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._   
**Author's Note:** _Much love to all my reviewers. Yes, there is a plot before we get to the romance. This surprises me as much as you, as I had no particular plot in mind when I began writing this; it just appeared out of nowehere. :)_

* * *

**THE IMPORTANCE OF ANCIENT RUNES   
Chapter Three: In Which Blaise Considers the Colour Green**

* * *

Blaise had never been overly fond of the colour green. This was somewhat unfortunate as it was not only one of his house colours, but also part of his family crest. Every morning, Blaise had to wake up to the colour green filling his line of vision: the canopy of his four-poster bed in this dormitory was green, as was the ceiling of his bedroom at home. He had arrived home from Hogwarts for Christmas in his first year to find that his parents had redecorated his bedroom in Slytherin colours. Clearly, they had seen this as some kind of treat. 

Blaise did not.

As far as Blaise was aware, there were only a few Slytherins who actually liked the colour. Off the top of his head, he could only name Daphne Greengrass who wore the colour as if it was going out of fashion. Thinking back to the puce robes in Gladrags, Blaise decided that it probably was.

He had decided at the end of his first year that there were four types of Slytherins. The first group of which were those archetypal Slytherins whom the Sorting Hat described each year at the Sorting Feast. Draco Malfoy was one such Slytherin, full of house pride and pureblooded ideals.

The second group was that to which Blaise felt he belonged, the Slythclaws. They were Slytherins with Ravenclaw tendencies; they cared about how well they did in school and actually had some brain cells to rub together, unlike the Slythpuffs. Those Slytherins with Hufflepuff tendencies probably would not have known a cunning plan if it danced naked in front of them. No, these Slytherins were those who kept to the shadows and were actually the most likely to have friends from other houses.

The four and final group was, of course, those with Gryffindor tendencies. This was not necessarily a bad thing, and Blaise had decided that these were the people who would think up a cunning plan and then forget all about it and improvise.

Blaise supposed that if this were the case in Slytherin, the same would also be true in other houses. Take, for example, the Unholy Trinity that was Potter, Granger and Weasley.

Weasley was an archetypal Gryffindor as far as Blaise could see. In fact, he often reminded Blaise of a bad-tempered lion. Potter, on the other hand, was far harder to place than his companions were; Granger obviously had Ravenclaw tendencies, but the Boy Who Lived seemed to err more towards Slytherin. There were also times when he seemed quite Hufflepuff and, if the rumours about his OWL grades were true, he too showed Ravenclaw tendencies.

Speaking of Granger, Blaise was going to be late for the second of their weekly meetings. In the first, he would teach her Italian, in the second she would pass on McGonagall's knowledge of the Animagus transformation.

It was now the week before Halloween and the corridors had already started to be decorated for the special day. If you chanced to look up, you would most likely see several stay pumpkins floating along near the ceiling. The suits of armour that lined the corridors were also getting into the swing of things and had been enchanted to sing Halloween songs.

He padded almost silently along a secret corridor that ran parallel to the Charms corridor to the room where he met Granger. Their meetings were somewhat clandestine, especially this one. His teaching her Italian was somewhat understandable, but Hermione's tuition had to be kept strictly secret.

When he reached the room, Granger was sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, eyes closed. He coughed quietly, trying to catch her attention. Her eyes flew open and she scrambled to her feet. "Zabini! You're here already?"

"So it would seem."

"Oh, right." She pushed a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. "Where did we get to last week?" she asked, adopting a business-like tone.

"Some breathing exercises, I think. I haven't quite got the hang of them yet, though."

"It takes a while," she admitted. "Here, sit down and show me what you're doing." There were no seats in the room, so Blaise sat on the floor. Hermione sank down onto her knees, watching him intently.

In through the mouth, out through the nose, in through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the mouth… Blaise repeated this mantra to himself, lips barely moving. He was startled when he felt a hand on his chest.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"You need to relax," she told his quietly, avoiding his gaze. "You're too tense. Besides, you're concentrating more on the breathing than the transformation."

Blaise sighed. "I'm never going to get this."

"Yes, you will," Hermione assured him. "Even I can do it now, and I find relaxing more difficult than you'd imagine."

"How are you getting on with the transformation?"

Her eyes were curiously bright. "I think I'm getting there. I mean, McGonagall says I shouldn't practise as much as I do, because I'll wear myself out, but I think I'm getting closer."

"Do you know what your form is yet?"

The Gryffindor shook her head. "No, but… it's like I know it's there, just waiting for me. I've started having dreams, but I can't remember them when I wake up. I think that when I dream I know what it is. What about you?"

"It's just a fuzzy blur," he admitted. "Sometimes I wonder if I actually have one at all." She shook her head at this.

"No, everyone has an animal form. Just not everyone can access it, though."

"Maybe I'm one of those people," Blaise said sullenly.

"I meant Muggles, actually. Although," she continued, "there is a fascinating chapter in a book I've been reading about Native Americans and…"

"Granger, I don't care about Native bloody Americans."

"All I'm saying," Hermione went on, "is that you shouldn't lose hope; you've only just started."

* * *

Blaise was pleasantly surprised when he got the draft of his Ancient Runes coursework back from Professor Mayfair - she was full of praise for his work and had written several comments suggesting books that he could look at for extra information. There was one suggestion, however, that Blaise planned to ignore:

Perhaps you and Miss Granger should consider sharing ideas as you are both doing the same essay. You both have some very interesting ideas and could benefit from discussing them.

Not a chance. That would mean spending even more time with Granger, and Blaise was not sure that he could stomach that. She was not quite as insufferable as she had been at the start of the year, but she still grated on his nerves. She was still a know it all, but she had a soft side and, Blaise suppose that, in the right light, she was actually quite pretty.

Wait. Stop right there. Where had that thought come from? Granger was not in the slightest bit pretty: even on a good day, her hair looked as though there had been a small explosion and she did not seem to care even a little bit about her appearance. Also, her eyes were far too brown. Granted, she had scrubbed up pretty well at the Yule Ball that one time, but one time in five and a bit years was nothing.

Then again, she had managed to snag Viktor Krum as her date to the Ball. This thought actually angered Blaise slightly; were the boys from Hogwarts not good enough for her? Blaise tried his hardest to dismiss this thought from his mind. Viktor Krum was a world famous Quidditch player - if he had asked Blaise to be his date he probably would have said 'yes'.

Apart from their biweekly meetings and Ancient Runes, Blaise saw very little of the Gryffindor prefect. She had the uncanny ability to fade into the background, and he was sure that he spotted her at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall less and less frequently.

Digging his spoon into his bowl of porridge, Blaise's attention was brought back to the Slytherin table by an insistent voice at his side.

"Blaise? Blaise?"

Oh no. Not Pansy Parkinson. What did she want? "Hullo, Pansy," Blaise greeted the prefect dully, enthusiasm completely lacking from his voice.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Go ahead."

"In private?" She actually sounded quite worried. The dark haired girl picked up an orange from a bowl on the table and began to pick nervously at the skin.

Blaise sighed. "Can I finish my breakfast first?" he asked.

"Of course."

He had never seen her like this before - normally she was all confidence and lip-gloss, but today Blaise noted that she was not wearing even the smallest amount of make-up. She looked younger than normal, he decided. Scared, even. Something was bothering her, even he could tell that much.

When he had finished his last mouthful, he dropped his spoon into his bowl and stood. "Come on, then," he said in a low voice.

She led him into a nearby classroom. "Thanks, Blaise. I really needed to talk to someone."

"Why couldn't you go to someone who knows you better?"

"Because they won't listen to me. You're a good listener, Blaise. Not like Daphne who'll go and blab everything a moment after I've told her, or Tracey who's driving me mental at the moment." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Millicent would probably laugh," she said.

"Probably," Blaise agreed. Millicent was somewhat cynical when it came to affairs of the heart, which was what Blaise presumed this to be. "What about Draco?" When Pansy was not with her girly gang, she was hanging off Malfoy's arm.

She looked uneasy. "He's part of the problem, actually."

"So what did you want to talk about?"

Panic flashed across her dark eyes. "If I tell you, you can't tell _anyone_, Blaise. Promise?"

"I promise." Was it just Blaise, or was Pansy getting more melodramatic by the minute?

"I want to break up with Draco."

Well, that was certainly unexpected. Just the night before, Pansy had been clinging to her boyfriend's every word, practically worshipping the ground he walked on. "Can I ask why?"

She gave a slight nod. "I think I've fallen for someone else."

"And does he or she feel the same way?"

"It's a he," Pansy seemed amused more than insulted by Blaise's insinuation. "And I think so."

"Who is it?" Colour flooded Pansy's cheeks at this question, and her reply came out in a squeak.

"Ron Weasley."

* * *

"Blaisiekins, you've got a face like a wet Tuesday. What's the matter?" Millicent sat on the wall beside Blaise. They were in the central courtyard of the castle, which was nearly deserted as it was lunchtime and the majority of the students were in the Great Hall eating. Blaise had decided to skip lunch and was sat out on a wall reading.

Millicent, never one to miss a meal, handed him a sandwich; by the looks of it, she had already eaten her own lunch. "Something the matter?" she asked again when she failed to receive a response.

"Millicent," Blaise asked, somewhat urgently. "Are you sane?"

"As far as I'm aware, _yes_. There are probably people who would argue that I'm not, though. Why?"

Two very bizarre things had happened to Blaise already that morning. Firstly he had inadvertently thought of Granger as pretty (he could barely even think the word without a shiver up his spine) and then Pansy had told him she was shagging Ron Weasley. Granted, she had not used the word 'shagging' but, come on, he was a _Weasley_. Where else did all those little red haired babies come from?

"Someone told me that they fancied someone from a house that they shouldn't and I was wondering if it was just me, or if the world has started spinning backwards." He took a bite of his sandwich, looking at Millicent to assure him that, yes, the world had starting spinning in the opposite direction that morning.

She seemed to understand. "Ah, so Granger finally admitted she's got the hots for you, did she?"

"What?" A half-chewed piece of sandwich landed several metres away and Millicent wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"She hasn't then?"

"What do you mean Granger 'has the hots' for me?" Blaise demanded in a low hiss.

"I thought it was rather obvious that she fancied you."

"She does?" Blaise asked weakly.

Millicent nodded, looking at Blaise appraisingly. She tilted her head to one side. "I can't quite work out what she'd see in you, though. You're a bit… thin, I suppose. You've got nice eyes," she added helpfully.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Are you sure you're not mad?"

"I dunno. If I say I am, will you stop asking?"

Blaise stared desolately at the half-masticated piece of sandwich, thinking that it was a waste of perfectly good sandwich; it had been cheese and tomato, his favourite.

At their Italian session, Blaise's mind was on anything but pronouns, and he found himself staring at Granger, trying to work out whether Millicent's claim was true. Did Granger fancy him? He could not quite tell. She seemed as business-like as ever and she twice asked if there was anything on her face because she kept looking at her.

"Are you sure there's nothing on my face?" she asked, biting her lip.

"Look, Granger," Blaise said in a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance, "I'd have told you by now if there was."

"There's no need to snap at me," she said harshly. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I think I need some fresh air," he told her. "Is it alright if we cut tonight short?" She nodded, watching as Blaise swept out of the room in a swish of black robes.

Something very odd is going on with him, a bemused Hermione thought as she collected her books together. Just as she was about to extinguish the candles, something shiny caught her eye. Stepping towards it, she realised it was Blaise's watch; she had noticed that he had a habit of taking his watch off when he was bored.

Not that she watched him, or anything. Of course not. She was not some kind of stalker, after all. He was just… well, _interesting_, she supposed. Different from the other Slytherins in a good way.

Stop thinking about him, Hermione, she scolded herself. _Nothing good can come of thinking about Slytherins._

When she returned to the Gryffindor common room, she was quite disheartened that Harry and Ron had not noticed her absence. She had not seen either of them since lunchtime, and the two were now engrossed in a game of wizard's chess. They were so engrossed in their game, in fact, that they did not even look up to greet her when she took a seat next to Ginny and Dean. All she got was a mumbled "'Lo, Hermione," from Harry and a grunt from Ron.

There was no "Where've you been?" or even a joking "Pince kick you out of the Library, then?" Just a grunt. How bloody typical.

"It's nice to see you, too," she said snidely, at which Harry actually raised his eyes giving her an apologetic glance. Ron, however, seemed more concerned with what his sister and her boyfriend were doing.

"Take your hand off her leg, Thomas," he warned, still scrutinising the chessboard.

"Ron!" Ginny protested, but he ignored her. Dean reluctantly moved his hand.

With Dean and Ginny clearly wrapped up in themselves and Ron and Harry wrapped up in their game, Hermione could not help but feel alone. "So… I hear Malfoy outed himself in the Great Hall earlier - him and Crabbe have been involved for quite a while, apparently."

"Uh huh," agreed Harry with a nod. "Me too."

"You've been involved with Crabbe? I never knew he was so sexually alluring. There must be something in the water in Slytherin," Hermione continued, starting to get exasperated now, "because I've been told that Pansy Parkinson has started dressing like a man and wants to be called 'Paul'."

To Hermione's surprise and amusement, this actually caught Ron's attention and his head snapped up. "What?" he demanded.

"Oh, so you _were_ listening."

He blushed. "Sorry, Hermione, I… well, I was a bit distracted." He gestured towards the chessboard.

"So I see." Hermione pursed her lips; this was getting ridiculous. "Well, I'm going up to bed. Goodnight, everyone."

As soon as Hermione had disappeared up the stairs to the girls dormitories, Harry looked up. "She does know it's only half past seven, doesn't she?" he asked. Ron shrugged.

"I dunno. There's something odd going on with her."

The next three weeks or so were fairly uneventful for Hermione. Harry and Ron had a combined total of seven detentions between them during this time, for which they lost Gryffindor seventy-five points. Hermione, however, earned a total of ninety-five in this time - she had begun to keep track - so it evened itself out in the end.

To Hermione's interest, there was a pretty spectacular scene in the Great Hall one morning when Pansy Parkinson had broken up with Draco Malfoy. He had started yelling at her calling her a 'frigid slag' and other such obscenities before she had cursed his hair off. He was, in fact, still bald and had just the downiest of growth where it had started to grow back.

Zabini was still acting strangely around her and Hermione desperately hoped that he had not started to fancy her or something like that. That would be… strange. After all, he was a Slytherin. She supposed that he was not too bad looking - a little thin and gangly, perhaps - but he was still a Slytherin. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor would be just plain _wrong_.

Not that she had spent any time thinking about this, of course. No, not at all.

A bright pink and glittery envelope landing on her breakfast plate the Thursday before the Christmas Hogsmeade visit sparked a flurry of interest at the Gryffindor table. In fact, Seamus nearly choked on the sausage he was eating. Hermione gave him a strange look.

"What is it?" she asked, gingerly picking up the letter. Even after all this time, she still was not accustomed with all the traditions of the wizarding world.

"Quafflepunchers," Andrew Kirke, who was sat to the left of Seamus, breathed in awe.

Was it just Hermione or did that sound rude? She slid a nail under the flap of the envelope, prising it open. Inside, she found a letter and a photograph. Blinking up at her from underneath bushy eyebrows and wearing flamboyant pink robes was Viktor Krum.

Ginny practically snatched the photo from Hermione's fingers, and it soon found its way to Seamus and Andrew who gazed at it in an almost loving fashion. "Boys," Hermione muttered, unfolding the letter.

In his slanted handwriting and almost perfect English, Viktor explained that he had just been signed to the Quiberon Quafflepunchers in France. In celebration of this, he was wondering if Hermione would join him in Hogsmeade the following weekend. Hermione quickly tucked the letter inside her robes. It was probably best if no one else knew about this.

"Is it from Krum?" Harry asked through a mouthful of egg and toast.

"Don't speak with your mouth full," Hermione chided. "Yes, it is."

"What does he say?"

"He got signed to the Quafflepunchers," Hermione said blandly, reaching for a jug of milk.

"Is that it?" Ron asked, taking the photograph from Seamus. He pulled a face. "The great ponce signed his photo," he said, handing it back to Hermione.

"That scrawl is probably worth more than your entire house, Weasley. Be careful he doesn't steal it, Granger."

Looking over her shoulder, Hermione saw Draco Malfoy stood there, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Oh, look," Harry commented dryly, "there's something pink and shiny at our table and Malfoy practically comes running." This prompted sniggers from several of the surrounding Gryffindors and, oddly enough, Crabbe and Goyle.

The nearly-hairless Malfoy looked quite flustered, muttered something along the lines of "Sod off, Potter," and then flounced away. Even Hermione had to smile at this. Clearly, Malfoy was somewhat touchy about the subject of his sexuality; one of the rumours floating around the fishbowl that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was that Pansy had dumped him because he was more attracted to Blaise Zabini than Pansy.

Hermione had found this particularly hilarious, and had even asked Blaise about it at the end of one of their meetings. Blaise had gone a particularly bright shade of red.

This was exactly what he had been dreading; she had somehow found a way to ask whether he was single or not. "Look, Granger, I've, erm, I've been meaning to talk to you about this for a while now. I know you find me attractive and everything, but I really don't see anything happening between us." This was said in a rush, and silence hung in the air while Hermione digested this information.

Blaise anxiously awaited her reaction. He hoped she would not break down in tears upon hearing that his heart did not belong to her: he had no idea how to cope with a crying teenage girl, especially a heartbroken one. There was that time he had had to calm down Millicent after the current object of her affections had insulted her, but she had not been so much heartbroken as in a murderous rage. However, to his immense surprise, Hermione did the one thing he had not been prepared for.

She started laughing.

"You thought that I… that I thought you were… oh, _Blaise_." She managed to choke out these words between giggles, clearly tickled pink by the idea that she fancied him. She tried to sober herself up, and asked, "Where would you get an idea like that?"

"Just… around." Blaise could practically feel the heat emanating from his cheeks.

"Oh." She smiled. "I suppose you're quite attractive… in the right light. I suppose. To some people." She seemed quite embarrassed at this point. "Thank you for trying to let me down gently, though," she added, kissing him on the cheek. "That was sweet of you. I'll see you in Ancient Runes." With this is left, leaving a slightly dazed Blaise behind.

Let me get this right. Blaise was trying to sort through the exchange that had just transpired. _First, she tells me that she doesn't like me, and then she says that I'm unattractive, and then she kisses me._ Blaise shook his head with a sigh.

"Girls."

* * *

"So, Hermione…" Ginny Weasley had linked her arm through Hermione's smiling brightly at her. "Are you coming to The Burrow for Christmas?"

The Weasley family had been using 12 Grimmauld Place as a temporary residence for the best part of a year now. Molly Weasley, however, had become increasingly homesick for their own abode, and so had declared that the entire Weasley clan would be home for Christmas. Hermione assumed that Percy Weasley, who had estranged himself from his family, was excluded.

"Actually, Gin, I was planning on staying at school this Christmas."

Ginny's face dropped. "But Mum's expecting you! She'll be so disappointed."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but I have so much work to do. I'll be able to get so much more done if I stay. Besides, with the twins around I think I'd spend more time shedding feathers than studying."

The redhead was clearly disappointed. "Are you sure?" she asked hopefully, although she pulled her arm away from Hermione.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"That's a shame, I was kind of hoping that…" Ginny trailed off into a mumbled and Hermione was sure that she heard the words 'purple blob'.

"Pardon?"

Looking slightly sheepish, the youngest Weasley said, "I was sort of hoping that maybe you and Ron would…"

"Would what?" Hermione demanded, trying to keep her voice quiet.

"You've been flirting all year and I…"

"Flirting! Since when?" Hermione was perplexed to say the least. Had she been flirting with Ron? Arguing with him seemed to be a better description. Ginny seemed as confused as Hermione.

"But I thought you fancied him!"

"And I thought he was more interested in chess than me," Hermione admitted as they turned a corner and emerged in the Entrance Hall. "Ginny, and I mean no offence, but your brother has the emotional maturity of a squirrel."

"I suppose you're right," Ginny said. A sly smile spread across her face. "You don't have your eye on anyone else, do you? I'm willing to offer my services to help you get a boyfriend."

Hermione was aghast at the idea of this. "What are you, Ginny? My pimp?" Ginny's brow furrowed.

"What's a pimp?"

The Gryffindor prefect shook her head. "Never mind."

* * *

**Thank Yous:** _Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter two: **jiayi, peng8noodles, Dunebird, A GraBini Fan, Procella Nox-noctis, Rinzae, MsLessa, Chaos-Fyre-Elf31, Lousie, IsLaNdMoChAgUrL, Fire Goddess, Charolastras, ShimmeringEvil, JeanB, SkoosiePants, mydream, lochmon, CarEtoDreaM** and **PhantomTzipora**._

Love and hugs and coffee,   
_**silverphoenix**_


	4. In Which Blaise and Hermione Indulge in ...

**Disclaimer:** _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._   
**Author's Note:** _Here's chapter fout for you, my lovelies. Someone asked if my!Blaise has curly black hair; I think that this Blaise has lind of lank, black hair. It gets a bit curly in damp weather though, I think. Enjoy the chapter._

* * *

**THE IMPORTANCE OF ANCIENT RUNES   
****Chapter Four: In Which Blaise and Hermione Indulge in Gossip**

* * *

The purple bag at her feet was a clear indication that Hermione had paid a visit to Quigley's Quills. The book resting on her lap was a confirmation of this, and Blaise noted that she was well over halfway through it.

"Either that's a very good book or you're a very fast reader," he commented, sitting on the wall beside her. She looked up, pushing a piece of hair from her face.

"A little of both," she admitted, surprised to see him. "I've been here for about an hour, though."

"Any particular reason why you're sat on a wall in Hogsmeade at the beginning of December?" There was a definite chill in the air, and Blaise could see his breath rising as he spoke. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

"I'm meeting someone." She pulled a small paper bag from the pocket of her green cloak. "Cough candy?" she asked, offering the bag to him. He shook his head. Shrugging, she pulled a piece free from where the sweets had stuck together. "I thought you didn't like Hogsmeade."

Shoving his hands in his pockets to try to keep them worn - he wished that he had brought his gloves with him - Blaise said, "I don't, but the house elves cut off my supply of coffee after the seventh cup." He shivered involuntarily. Why did Hermione not seem to feel the cold? "Who are you meeting?"

"I'm supposed to be meeting Viktor for coffee, but I get the feeling he's not going to show up."

"You've been waiting here for an hour and you've only just figured that Krum's not going to show?"

"No. I worked that out ten minutes ago." Hermione sighed and closed her book. "I might as well go back to Hogwarts." She slipped the book back into the purple bag and stood up. Blaise noticed that her fingers were starting to turn blue; she was not wearing gloves either.

"Coffee," he found himself barking.

"Excuse me?" Her cheeks were pink from the cold and her eyes oddly bright. "I know you like the stuff, Zabini, but if you start shouting about it randomly people are going to think you're a little bit strange."

"Coffee," he repeated, the word, for once, feeling odd on his tongue. "You came to Hogsmeade for a coffee, so you might as well get one."

She did not seem to take him entirely seriously. "With you?" she asked uncertainly.

I suppose that's what it sounded like, Blaise thought, realising the implication of what he had said. "Um, I suppose so."

"With you?" she repeated.

"If you want," Blaise said with a shrug, sounding as though it did not bother him. To his surprise, he found that it did not. Once you looked past the bossiness, and the fact that her eyes were entirely too brown, she could actually hold a fairly decent conversation. Whenever he tried to have a conversation with Slytherins, their egos inevitably got in the way. Blaise did not exclude himself from this - there was something about other Slytherins that boosted his feeling of self-importance.

"But you're a Slytherin."

"I suppose I am."

"And I'm a Gryffindor."

"Really?" He tried to sound surprised and was rewarded with a smile from Hermione.

"It's not exactly orthodox for Slytherins and Gryffindors to socialise."

"Ah," Blaise pointed out, "but it has been known for Gryffindors and Slytherins to work together on schoolwork if needs be. God, Granger, it's not like I'm asking you out, or anything. I just wanted to discuss our coursework." After six years, he had finally perfected the sly, Slytherin smile. "We are doing the same Ancient Runes coursework, are we not?"

Hermione pursed her lips and began to walk to back into the village.

"Where are you going?" he found himself calling after her.

"To get a coffee," she replied over her shoulder. "Are you coming?"

Considering himself something of a connoisseur of coffee, Blaise took Hermione to The Hog's Head, which, he said, if you could ignore the smell of goats for long enough, made the best coffee in Hogsmeade.

"So do you think that you'll get your coursework finished in time?" she asked, sipping her coffee delicately. After being outside in the cold for so long, the liquid felt practically scalding. The goat-smell was not quite as strong as it had been the last time she had been here.

"Hopefully. D'you think that Mayfair was serious when she said she'd kick us out of Ancient Runes if we don't get it handed in on time?"

"I hope not," Hermione confessed. "I've just started researching the Muggle events of the time, and I think I'm going to end up rewriting my entire essay to include the Nazis."

"I thought about doing that, but I think it's too late. I'll just end up confusing myself."

She giggled, then immediately looked sheepish. "Sorry," she apologised. "I didn't mean to laugh. It's just… well; this is ridiculous, isn't it?"

"The smell's getting stronger, isn't it?" Blaise nodded towards the barkeeper who was polishing a glass behind the bar. "I think it's him," he added in a conspiratorial whisper.

"No! Well, _yes_, but that's not what I meant."

Blaise looked sceptically at the Gryffindor. "What then?"

"I think that I talk more to you than I do to Harry and Ron. And I don't even call you by your first name!"

"Trouble in paradise?"

"If you want to call it that," Hermione said slowly, taking another sip of her coffee. "Harry's so preoccupied, and Ron… Ron's been so distant lately. It's like his mind's somewhere else."

"Or on someone else," Blaise added. She peered at him over the rim of her mug.

"Do you know something I don't, Zabini?"

"Maybe," he said, attempting to sound innocent. "I never pictured you as a gossip, Granger."

"I never pictured you as someone to know gossip, _Zabini_," she teased. "You can call me Hermione, if you want," she added.

"I didn't think we'd progressed that far into our relationship," he joked.

"Well, I'm up for taking a leap." She leant across the table. "So what do you know about Ron?"

Good Lord, is that cleavage? Blaise thought weakly. Hermione Granger was _not_ supposed to have cleavage: she was supposed to be asexual; half-book, half-human. "I, er, I have it on good authority that King Weasley may have found himself a Queen."

Hermione's eyes widened. _Too brown,_ Blaise thought. "Really?" Her eyes went from wide to suspiciously narrow. "But how would you know? You _do_ know who it is, don't you?"

The Slytherin nodded. "Yes, and let's just say that if he gets on her wrong side he'll lose that lovely mane of red hair."

"No!" Astonishment was written across her face. "Parkinson? _Pansy?_" Blaise's smile was one of pure smugness.

"So do you have any gossip about the Gryffindors?" Blaise asked, trying to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the window. Since when had he become so vain? _I really need to get a haircut,_ he decided, pushing his fringe from his eyes.

"Erm… Lavender Brown snores?"

"Is that the best you can do?"

She rolled her eyes. "Um, if the rumours are to be believed, Seamus and Dean are more than 'just friends'."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. What about Crabbe and Goyle? Are the rumours about them true?"

At this, Blaise laughed, attracting the attention of some of the other patrons. "Crabbe and Goyle? No! Although that would explain the looks Goyle has been giving Crabbe," he mused.

"Any truth to that one about you and Daphne Greengrass?"

"She got tipsy and stuck her tongue down my throat."

"So no kinky sex sessions with handcuffs, then?"

"No. Speaking of kinky sex sessions…"

Hermione groaned, knowing what was coming next.

"…any truth behind the one about you, Potter and Weasley?"

"Definitely not!" Her face was a bright crimson now, and she sat back in her seat, laughing weakly. "I heard that rumour and I couldn't stop laughing for half an hour."

Blaise began to drum his fingers against the battered tabletop; if the pub had been green, it would have reminded him strongly of the Slytherin common room. However, the company was infinitely better than any he could find in the Slytherin common room. Not that he would ever admit that to her, of course.

Over the course of the afternoon, he learnt that Hermione was an only child and glad of it, unlike himself; Blaise was the eldest of five and would have given anything to be an only child. He also learnt that her parents were blissfully unaware of the goings on at their daughter's school and that she had purposely chosen to keep them in the dark about all things concerning Voldemort.

"You're like a book," Hermione announced, finishing her third cup of coffee. If it were possible, Blaise thought that the drink was going to her head.

The Slytherin considered this. "Seeing as you like books, I'll take that as a compliment."

"I s'pose. I can't quite read you, though."

"Do you want to read me?" Blaise almost hit himself. Was _he _flirting with _her_?

"I think I'd like to. Would you recommend it?"

Blaise gulped. He hoped it was not audible. Was _she_ flirting with _him_? Or had the coffee gone to her head?

"Do you think we should be getting back to the castle?" She looked startled, possibly because he had not answered her question, but also because his voice had been somewhat higher than normal when he had said this. Hermione glanced at the window; it was starting to get dark outside.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," she agreed. She sounded slightly disappointed and reached for her purse. She placed a galleon on the table, as did Blaise, and they stood. Just as they opened the door to the pub, a shower of purple dust covered them, making Blaise cough and Hermione sneeze.

Looking up at Blaise to apologise - she was sure that she had sneezed over him - Hermione found herself staring into a pair of intoxicatingly blue eyes. Her breath caught in her chest and she realised that he had started to lean forwards. _Yes, that seems like a good idea_, Hermione found herself thinking as she tilted her head upwards.

A glass smashed.

Hermione and Blaise sprang apart, the trance broken.

"We'd better get going," Hermione said hurriedly. Blaise nodded wordlessly and they set off in silence at a fast pace back towards the castle.

"_Reparo_." The broken glass mended itself, and the barkeeper picked it up from the floor.

"What'd you go and do that for?" a woman at the bar asked. She stirred her drink with a cocktail onion, frowning. "They were so close!

"Because you shouldn't be interfering with other people's love lives," he told her, flipping his long, grey beard over his shoulder. "You're a married woman, Elizabeth. I'd have thought you'd have grown out of this sort of thing by now."

"I prefer to think of age as more of a guideline," Elizabeth Quigley said airily, before biting into her onion with a satisfying _crunch_.

"You've been spending too much time in your uncle's company," he said in a somewhat amused tone.

"Is that a bad thing?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "Besides, those two would be so perfect together - I've thought so since the first time they came into my shop." Elizabeth pulled a few coins from the pocket of her crimson robes and picked a few of them out. She placed them on the bar, but the barkeeper pushed them back, shaking his head. She smiled brightly.

"They're still only children," he warned.

"It's never too early to find love," she retorted jovially. "Send my love to Mummy."

She left The Hog's Head in a swirl of crimson fabric, and the barkeeper smiled to himself behind his beard. His daughter could be so much like her uncle sometimes that it was uncanny.

* * *

On the day that the other students were to return home for Christmas, Hermione found herself sat in the library, organising her Charms notes. She had decided that putting them in the order that the subjects came in the textbook would make things easier when it came to revision. With this and the variety of coloured inks that Hermione had amassed to colour-code everything, she felt sure that she would be unstoppable at the end of year exams.

"Hermione Granger," a voice behind her barked, just as she was starting on chapter two. Hermione turned around to find Millicent Bulstrode stood behind her, a grim expression on her face. Her travelling cloak suggested that she was about to leave to catch the train.

"Millicent Bulstrode?" she asked uncertainly.

"What," Millicent said sharply, "are your intentions towards Blaise Zabini?"

"Intentions?" Hermione repeated, feeling somewhat intimidated by the Slytherin girl who was towering over her. In reality, there was little difference in the girls' heights, but as Hermione was sitting and Millicent was standing, the Slytherin seemed all the more imposing.

Millicent rolled her eyes. "Yes. Towards Blaise Zabini. I believe you're acquainted with him. Slytherin, dark hair, about this tall," she said, holding her hand a good three inches or so above her head.

"Of Italian descent?" Hermione asked. "Yes, I know him. However, I'm still not quite sure what you mean by 'intentions'. I suppose friendship, but that's about it really."

Narrowing her eyes, the Slytherin girl regarded Hermione carefully. "So you have no romantic interest in my friend?"

"God, no." Hermione could not believe that Millicent was asking her this. "I mean… he's _Blaise_. Not really my type." Hermione looked up at Millicent with a small smile, hoping she had not offended her. "You're welcome to him," she added, although once she had said this, she realised that it made Blaise sound like the last piece of cake or the sweet that is at the bottom of the bag and is stuck to the paper.

"Welcome to him?" Millicent echoed. "Why would I want him? He's _Blaise_." Both of the girls smiled. "Well, um, merry Christmas, Granger." The Slytherin girl seemed appeased by Hermione's answer.

"Yeah, merry Christmas, Busltrode," Hermione said, turning back to her Charms notes.

Millicent turned to leave, but paused to say, "By the way, he's staying for Christmas. Got an owl from his parents this morning; they're taking the little ones to Italy for Christmas and Blaise has to stay at Hogwarts."

Hermione nodded. "Merry Christmas, Millicent." Surprised at being addressed by her first name, Millicent gave her a small smile before hurrying out of the library; she had a train to catch.

Turning back to her notes and flipping over the page of her textbook, Hermione could not help but feel a pang of jealously; Harry and Ron never showed that much interest in her life any more, and it hurt. Slytherins were not supposed to care for each other - they were supposed to be greedy, ruthless, and self-obsessed. Or was that just Malfoy?

After getting to know Blaise better - although she had to admit that he was still something of a mystery - she could honestly say that not all Slytherins were like that. Even Millicent, despite the headlock incident in second year, seemed quite pleasant. And she cared about her friend and with whom he might be involved. It scared Hermione slightly when she realised that Harry and Ron could learn a lesson from the Slytherins.

* * *

There were fewer than twenty students at Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday and so the house tables in the Great Hall had been replaced by just one table, where the students and the professors sat together.

Hermione was rather surprised to find Blaise sitting next to her at breakfast the next morning, even though she had known he was still at Hogwarts.

"Mornin'," he mumbled, reaching blindly for a cup of coffee, eyes still half-closed. He practically inhaled the first cup and reached for another. Clearly, Hermione noted with amusement, he was not interested in solid food at this time of day. Finishing the last bite of her toast, Hermione handed him an envelope.

He looked at it blankly. "What is it?" he asked.

"It's a Christmas card."

He prodded it with his finger. "Why?"

"Because it's traditional to give them at this time of year." He looked at her suspiciously before saying:

"I know what a Christmas card is, Hermione. But why are _you_ giving one to _me_?"

Hermione sighed. Perhaps she should have given it to him at a time of day when he was more coherent. Obviously, there was too much blood in his caffeine system. "Because, Merlin help me, I'm starting to consider you a friend. This is what friends do; they give each other cards."

Eyes still narrowed suspiciously, Blaise slid a finger under the flap of the envelope, easing it open with the minimum of tearing. He pulled the card out and looked at the image on the front. "Not very Christmassy," he commented.

"I didn't picture you as a holly and robins sort of person." She looked at the picture, a cup of steaming coffee. On the side of the cup was a picture of a lion, a snake in its mouth.

"Did you draw it?"

"Me? No, I can draw stick men, but that's about it. Dean drew it - two sickles a card, three if you want it to move." He nodded in interest, opening the card.

Coffee should be black as Hell, strong as death and sweet as love, he read, _Turkish proverb_ written underneath it in smaller letters. _I saw this and thought of you_, Hermione had added in a green ink. The rest of the writing inside was just a standard Christmas greeting.

"Do you like it?" Hermione asked, feeling more nervous than she should have.

"It's… very personalised," Blaise commented with a grin. Coffee was infinitely more interesting than a pretty picture of a bird. If only it was a real cup of coffee… "Thank you."

"Are you upset that you didn't get to go to Italy?"

"How did you know about that?" Blaise was surprised about that: was she turning into some sort of stalker?

"Millicent Bulstrode paid me a visit yesterday."

"Oh, right." This seemed to be news to Blaise. "I'm not really bothered about Italy - I go there every summer, anyway. This is only the second time I've spent Christmas here, so I'm trying to enjoy it."

"Are there many Slytherins staying?" Hermione asked, trying to make conversation.

"Half a dozen or so. Apart from Pansy and Daphne they're all younger than me."

Blaise did not seem very talkative this morning, and Hermione was tempted to give up trying to make him talk. However, there was no one else to talk to, and so she said, "Your brothers aren't at Hogwarts, then?"

"Pascal is going to start in September," was the dull reply.

"Do you think he'll be a Slytherin?"

"Ravenclaw." Monosyllables were easier on the brain at this time of the day.

"Are you alright, Blaise?" Hermione was starting to get concerned.

He gave her a weak smile before explaining. "I'm not used to conversation this early in the morning. The other Slytherins usually just see me coming, hand me my coffee and leave me be."

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"It's up to you."

Hermione pulled another piece of toast towards her and began to spread it with butter. Just as her hand clasped around the jam jar, an owl dropped that morning's copy of the _Daily Prophet_ onto her plate. It landed on her arm and Hermione tucked a couple of sickles into the pouch on its leg. She nearly choked on her toast when she saw the headline _KRUM KIDNAPPED?_ staring up at her. The picture of the Bulgarian Seeker blinked and scowled before disappearing out of view. Brushing crumbs from the side of her mouth and ignoring Blaise's concerned, "You alright?" Hermione quickly read the article.

Bulgarian national Seeker, Viktor Krum, has been missing for over a week the Daily Prophet_ can reveal._

Krum, 20, recently signed to the French Quidditch team the Quiberon Quafflepunchers. He has not been seen since he left France to visit former girlfriend Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger is currently in the middle of her sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the two met when Krum represented Durmstrang Academy in the Triwizard tournament two years ago.

Team mate and Captain of the Quafflepunchers, Leon Marche, said, "Excuse moi, mais je ne parle l'anglais." The other member of the Quafflepunchers have declined to comment, but an official spokeswitch for the team has told us that they are looking into his disappearance.

"He's probably just decided to go to Hawaii or something," she said. "The weather over here is not great at this time of year. He'll probably come back in a couple of weeks with a suntan," she added.

However, with You-Know-Who's presence once again casting its shadow over the country, could this be part of some bigger plot? When we enquired into the situation, the Auror we spoke to told us to "Naff off."

Turn to page seven for more about this story.

"Hermione," Blaise said, peering over her shoulder, "are you alright?" She wordlessly passed him the _Prophet_, taking a bite of her now-cold toast. She chewed it slowly. This explained why Viktor had not shown up at Hogsmeade. But where was he? He was not in Hawaii or anywhere like that - Viktor had once told her that he could not stand holidays in the sun. Instead, he preferred going skiing or just going home to stay with his parents.

Beside her, Blaise let out a low whistle. "Any ideas where he is?" he asked quietly.

"No." Hermione buried her face in her hands, another thought occurred to her. "I'm going to start getting hate mail again!" she wailed.

"Hate mail?" Blaise repeated. Hermione nodded, raising her head and taking a deep breath.

"Yes. Like that time in fourth year when Rita Skeeter said I was breaking Harry's heart by going out with Viktor." She hammered her fist on the table, attracting the attention of two Hufflepuff first years that giggled and went back to their breakfast. "Why did they have to bring me into this? Those _Daily Prophet _reporters don't know when to keep their bloody noses out of other people's private lives."

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," Blaise said, pouring himself his third cup of coffee. The Gryffindor raised her eyebrows at this.

"Won't be that bad? You've never had some random witch send you Bubotuber puss in the post because a paper said you've broken the heart of Harry Potter."

"I see your point." He paused and took a sip of his coffee. "What are you doing today?"

"Studying. You?"

He seemed to consider this carefully. "I'm thinking about flooding the dungeons and telling Snape that Peeves did it. Care to join me?" he asked in a lazy drawl.

"Are you being serious?" Hermione another question internally: _are you trying to sound like Draco Malfoy?_

"Deadly. I've wanted to do it for years and now I have nothing better to do, so it seems like the perfect opportunity." He gave her another of his crooked grins. "We could even get some bubble bath and mix it with the water - Snape would love that. Lavender scented, I think. Perfect."

"We? Blaise, I'm a _prefect_," she pointed out. He seemed surprised to hear this.

"Oh, so that's what that badge is for."

"I'm not going to flood the dungeons," she told him sternly. She had a strange feeling that, if she were not firm, she would end up being pulled into Blaise's dungeon-flooding plot.

"Pity." Downing the rest of his coffee, he stood. "Are we still meeting tonight?" Blaise grabbed a dry piece of toast, and took a bite of it.

"Same time, same place."

"See you then."

* * *

Blaise was sat eating his lunch on New Years Eve, leafing through the book that Hermione had given him for Christmas. He had laughed when he had woken up to find it with the rest of his presents on Christmas morning, thinking it typical that Hermione Granger had given him a book.

Pansy and Daphne had pestered him, wanting to know why she had given him a Christmas present, and he had been forced to go through how they had grown to know each other through working together for their Ancient Runes; Tickling Charms could be very persuasive. He had obviously left out the matter of their 'deal', feeling that, even if he did mention his teaching of Italian, he would have had to explain what he was getting in return.

The book was about everything and anything, and was full of seemingly random fact. Blaise was currently reading the 'Bizarre Muggle Laws' section, having just finished 'Oddities in the Animal Kingdom'.

His fellow Slytherin sixth years joined him, discussing Pansy's Divination coursework. "Now, I don't think that I'm a true Libra," Daphne was saying, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"I'm going to disagree," Pansy said, taking a seat next to Blaise. "You aren't on the surface, but when you dig beneath the surface you are." The Slytherin prefect grinned at Blaise. "Afternoon, Blaisiekins."

"Don't call me that," he growled, turning the page. Pansy rolled her eyes and pulled Blaise's almost-untouched plate of food towards her. She scooped the carrots off his plate and pushed her broccoli onto his before returning the plate to its original position. This had been going on since first year: Blaise could not stand carrots - apparently, he had been involved in an accident regarding the vegetable at a young age - and Pansy hated broccoli with a passion.

"Do you want to sit with us, Granger? Hermione?" Daphne called, waving at the Gryffindor girl who had just entered the Great Hall. Blaise looked up to see Hermione's surprised expression at being asked to sit with the Slytherins. She seemed to look to him, her asking what she should do. He gave an almost unperceivable nod, and she took a seat next to Daphne.

"Erm, thanks," she said, uncertainly.

"How are you getting on with that Gnomish translation?" the blonde girl asked.

Hermione groaned. "It's murder!" she moaned. "All that going around in spirals from the centre of the page? I feel like I'm going round in circles." Daphne nodded sympathetically.

"So what's your star sign, then, Hermione?" Pansy asked.

"Pardon?"

"It's for my Divination coursework," explained Pansy slowly.

"But why would you want to know my…"

"Just tell her your star sign, Hermione," Blaise said, spearing a piece of broccoli with his fork.

Slightly begrudgingly, Hermione admitted that she was a Virgo. This earned giggles from Daphne; Pansy looked at her fellow Slytherin as if to say 'shut up that's getting annoying'.

"Did I say something funny?" Hermione was somewhat perplexed by the giggling from Daphne.

"It's just that Blaise is a Virgo as well," Pansy said in a bored tone. She cast Daphne a somewhat scathing look. "It's not like her birthday's the nineteenth of September, Daffy."

"Um, well, actually…" Hermione got no further in this sentence, however, as all three Slytherins were staring at her: even Blaise had looked up from his book.

Blaise was the first to speak. "We have the same birthday?" he asked.

"Only if yours is the nineteenth of September."

"Well, apparently we do, then."

After pushing the food around on her plate as she thought, Hermione looked up at Pansy. "What's your star sign?"

"Taurus," Pansy said carefully.

Hermione seemed to consider this, and Blaise watched her carefully over the top of his book. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to say.

"I didn't do much Divination, but isn't that supposed to be a good match for Pisces?"

Aha! That was almost exactly what Blaise had been expecting. _Almost_, because he had not known Ron Weasley's astrological sign. Pansy's cheeks flushed and she muttered something in the affirmative. Daphne looked rather blank, wondering why Pansy was having such a strange reaction to such a seemingly innocent question. Blaise was tempted to say something, but held his tongue. He had not always been on the best of terms with Pansy, but since she had confided in him about her relationship with Weasley, she had mellowed considerably towards him, and he could see the two of them being as good friends as he was with Millicent; she had already started to call him 'Blaisiekins', much to his chagrin.

Trying to change the conversation and relieve Pansy of her discomfort, Blaise said, "This book's actually quite good." Hermione smiled at this.

"Glad you like it."

"Did you know that a cockroach can live for nine days after you cut off its head before it starves to death?"

"Blaise!" Daphne scolded. "I'm trying to eat! I don't want to hear about cockroaches."

He apologised and said, "It got me thinking, and I reckon that, if there was an apocalypse tomorrow, the only living creatures left on the planet would be cockroaches, Blast-Ended Skrewts and Draco Malfoy."

Pansy snorted in a rather unladylike fashion, and Daphne's giggles were renewed. Even Hermione was laughing at this, and Blaise grinned.

"I actually think you might be right," Pansy agreed, as she scooped up a carrot with her fork.

"Has Justin spoken to you about tonight yet?" Hermione asked when she had recovered from her laughing. Pansy and Daphne nodded, but Blaise just looked confused.

"It sounds great!" Daphne enthused. "I hope Dumbledore lets us go."

"Have I missed something?" Blaise enquired, closing his book; his meal was starting to get cold.

"Finch-Fletchley is going to ask Dumbledore if the sixth and seventh years that are still here can go to Hogsmeade tonight," Pansy supplied.

"New Years Eve in the castle is deadly boring," Hermione agreed. Almost on cue, the Hufflepuff bounded over to them, reminding Blaise of an overexcited puppy. He seemed astonished to find Hermione sat with Slytherins, but did not ask why.

"We're allowed to go!" he announced. "Dumbledore said some of the professors were going to the Three Broomsticks, so we're allowed to 'tag along', or something like that."

Pansy pulled a face. "Urgh. So we're going to have _teachers_ watching us all evening." Blaise shook his head.

"Of course not. All we have to do is get them drunk."

* * *

**Thank Yous:** _Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter three - **Sw33t Vi3t, IsLaNdMoChAgUrL, mydream, Tabii, Lousie, JeanB, ShimmeringEvil, merryday, fire goddess, SkoosiePants** and **Procella Nox-noctis**._

Love and hugs and coffee,   
_**silverphoenix**_


	5. In Which All Eloquence Escapes Blaise

**Disclaimer:** _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._   
**Author's Note:** _People are going to hate me after this chapter. I've resigned myself to it, so I'm going to go and hide behind bodyguard!Blaise and his mug of coffee. If coffee be the drink of fic, read on..._

* * *

**THE IMPORTANCE OF ANCIENT RUNES   
Chapter Five: In Which All Eloquence Escapes Blaise**

* * *

At eleven thirty-five p.m., Blaise was still unsure how he had been dragged to the Three Broomsticks. Taking a swig of his seventh Butterbeer, he remembered: Pansy had very sharp nails, and Daphne was exceptionally good at the Bat-Bogey Hex.

Wishing that there were more alcohol in the drink, Blaise tried to drown out the noise of the pub with his own thoughts. He had learnt at the age of seven that there was enough to alcohol in Butterbeer to make a house elf tipsy. His mother had not been best pleased when Goolie, the Zabini's only elf, had been in a drunken state for nigh on three days.

"Blaise, are you going to dance or what?" Pansy tugged impatiently on the sleeve of his robe, and Blaise tried to shrug her off.

"Or what," was his reply. "I don't dance," he told her.

"_Everyone_ dances," she insisted, trying to remain patient. "Even Daphne, and she looks like a scarecrow when _she_ dances."

He looked at her darkly. "Do you really want me to make an idiot of myself?" The Slytherin girl, dressed in glittery pink robes, shook her head.

"Of course not. That would just be an added bonus."

"Pansy…" he warned. Pansy shrugged.

"Fine, be like that. I won't be kissing you at midnight, that's for sure." She returned to the dance floor, joining Daphne and Hermione. With interest, Blaise noted that Daphne did indeed look like a scarecrow being blown about by the wind when she danced.

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise spotted Professor Mayfair attempting to give Professor Snape a lap dance; Blaise had anonymously sent a bottle of scotch over to the table that the professors were sat at, and they appeared to be getting through it quite cheerfully. Snape even appeared to be smiling. Well, Blaise assumed that he was smiling, but it could have just been trapped wind.

Whatever it was, the professors were suitably inebriated, i.e. they were not paying a blind bit of notice to the students.

Pansy's departure pushed Blaise back into his reverie, and he was trying to recall use number eleven for dragon's blood when Hermione took a seat next to him. "Having a good time?" she asked with a smile. The contemptuous look he gave her was his reply to this. "There's only quarter of an hour until midnight," Hermione said apologetically. "We can go back to the castle after that." A blush spread across her cheeks. "I didn't mean that like a proposition," she stuttered, "just stating a fact."

"I know that."

"Good."

"Did Pansy send you over to get me to dance?" he asked, raising his voice so that he could be heard over the loud music.

"No. My feet are hurting," she explained. "I shouldn't have worn high heels," she added. Blaise smiled.

"I wouldn't have pictured you as the type to _own_ high heels."

Hermione leaned forward, conspiratorially. "I borrowed them from Daphne," she admitted with a grin.

"They make you look taller."

"Are you saying I'm short?" Hermione asked in mock indignation. Blaise winced at this.

"Is there a right answer to that?"

"Hermione, do you want to dance?" Justin Finch-Fletchley had appeared at their table, looking hopefully at the Gryffindor.

What is it with Hufflepuffs and the colour yellow? Blaise wondered as he took in Justin's yellow robes. He supposed that it was because yellow was a colour usually associated with happiness, thus tying into part of the Slytherin Code of Conduct: _Ignorance is bliss_._ This is why Hufflepuffs are always so happy_. It was not so much a way to live your life, but a helpful to keep in mind when dealing with member of the house of the badger.

"I, erm," Hermione looked helplessly at Blaise.

"What are you looking at me for?" Blaise asked. "I'm not your keeper."

For a moment, she looked disappointed, and then smiled brightly at Justin. "I would love to dance," she told him as she stood, despite the fact that she had told Blaise only moments earlier that her feet were hurting.

Something odd had just transpired, Blaise knew that much. When Finch-Fletchley had asked Hermione to dance, she had looked to _him_. Had she been seeking approval? Blaise certainly was not going to stop her from dancing with the Hufflepuff - Finch-Fletchley was harmless enough. He _was_ a Hufflepuff, after all. Or had it been permission? In which case, things had become slightly more complicated.

If she had been seeking permission, it implied that he and Hermione were… not _involved_, exactly, but that they were…

Blaise could not even fathom it. There was no way in which he could think to put his relationship with Hermione into words. Even using the word 'relationship' was a little heavy going in his mind. They were friends and that was it. Hermione had even directly told him that she was not even attracted to him.

And he did not find her in the least bit attractive, either.

Of course not.

He pushed up the sleeve of his black robes so that he could view his watch. Five more minutes until midnight. Five more minutes until another year began. Five more minutes until Blaise could retreat to the comfort of his dormitory.

It was nice, Blaise had decided, having his dormitory to himself. Crabbe snored so loudly that Blaise was sure the floorboards shook. Goyle talked to himself in his sleep, although he was actually far more lucid when he was asleep than when he was awake. Blaise had actually managed to have several rather deep conversations with him while he was sleeping, in fact.

Then there was Draco. The Malfoy heir used so much aftershave that Blaise was surprised he had not suffocated himself yet. Not that he _needed_ aftershave: Malfoy would not have known what facial hair was even if it had attacked him wearing one of Theodore's t-shirts.

Theodore Nott left clothes everywhere. Everywhere. However, if it were not for his clothes serving as a constant reminder of his presence, Blaise suspected that everyone would have forgotten about him by now.

Three minutes until midnight.

Is that a freckle on the back of my hand? Blaise wondered. He rubbed it. _Nope, just a spot of ink. I wonder how that got there?_

Blaise drummed his fingers impatiently on the tabletop. Could they just get this year over with? Three hundred and sixty five days was long enough as it was.

Two minutes until midnight.

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy, warty Hogwarts, teach us something please… Blaise began to murmur the school song to himself to the tune that was currently being playing.

Whether we be old and bald, or young with scabby knees. He had always liked that line. However, he had never met anyone bald at Hogwarts yet. Unless Snape was secretly bald and was just wearing a bad wig. He would have to discuss that theory with Pansy and Daphne later.

One minute until midnight.

Daphne slid into the seat next to Blaise, a toothy grin on her face. The blonde giggled, staring at him, and Blaise suddenly felt self-conscious. Why was she staring at him like that?

He purposely directed his gaze toward the dancers. Hermione and Finch-Fletchley were far too close together for Blaise's liking. Was it just Blaise, or were his hands travelling lower?

Thirty seconds until midnight.

"Blaise?" Daphne asked softly, barely audible over the music. Blaise blinked.

"Yes?" he asked, still looking at Hermione and Justin.

Ten. Nine.

"Blaise, can I…"

Eight. Seven. Six.

"Yeah, whatever."

Five. Four.

Everyone was chanting now as the seconds ticked closer to midnight.

Three. Two. One.

Blaise gave a squeak of surprise as Daphne's lips descended on his, and his eyes flew open.

Just in time to see Hermione kiss Justin.

* * *

When Hermione finally found the courage to open her eyes, she immediately wished that she had not. Everything was yellow.

Everything.

Blinking, and struggling to push herself into a sitting position, Hermione looked around, wishing that she could clear the fogginess from her head. When she was capable of coherent thought, the first thing that occurred to her was that she was not in her dormitory. Nor was she in a bed.

She was fully dressed - thank God - and if she had to guess, she would have to say she was in the Hufflepuff common room. But how had she got there?

Hermione closed her eyes, primarily to block out the yellow monstrosity that was the Hufflepuff common room. Vague ideas began to pile themselves into Hermione's brain. Justin had offered to walk her back to Gryffindor when they had returned to the castle, and somehow they had ended up in Hufflepuff instead.

Then there had been kissing. And possibly some inappropriate touching.

Justin, who had managed to a few drinks from the inexperienced barmaid, had definitely been tipsy, and had eventually staggered off, mumbled something about needing to be sick. Needless to say, Hermione had not been very pleased about this. While she had been waiting for Justin to return, she must have fallen asleep.

Cracking her eyes open again, Hermione saw that Justin was nowhere in sight. Obviously, he had not returned last night.

As she stood up, intent on making a quick get away, Hermione winced - she had been wearing Daphne's high heels all night, and her feet were sore as a result. Bending down, she slipped them off, revealing bright red strips across her skin from where the straps had been digging in.

She decided to risk walking back to the Gryffindor common room barefoot, even though she did not actually know how far it was. Hopefully, once she had left this yellow common room, she would be able to get her bearings.

Once out in the corridor, Hermione practically ran back to Gryffindor Tower, her feet pounding along the stone floor of the castle. When she was safely inside her own dormitory, Hermione quickly divested herself of her robes and turned on a scalding hot shower in the bathroom; as nice a privilege as the Prefects' Bathroom was, there were times when only a shower would do.

Stepping under the hot water, she reached for the bottle of shampoo. How could she have been so stupid? Why had she agreed to go back to Hufflepuff with Justin? She had been in full control of herself, only having drunk pumpkin juice all evening - she had not even had any Butterbeer.

The only person she could recall drinking that particular substance was Blaise. As she worked her hair - not to mention herself - into a lather, she berated herself. Recently, her thoughts had had a habit of slipping onto the dark haired Slytherin. She had come to feel that he was not quite as unattractive as she had once told him. Not that she would ever tell him this; she knew perfectly well that it would only serve to inflate his ego.

Not to mention the fact that he was a bad influence on her. Compared to before she had started to work with him, she drank about ten times more coffee. Whenever she was around him, she felt… flirty? That was probably how Pavarti and Lavender would describe it. The banter between the two of them was exhilarating, almost, and she found herself looking forward to their encounters more than she should have. She was both physically and mentally exhausted from studying and the Animagi training, yet the thought of seeing him seemed to dull it a little: there were times when he was an arrogant Slytherin and times when he was very much a teenager. It was intriguing, really.

Rinsing her hair, she wondered if Blaise was in a similar position to hers right now. Was he regretting that kiss with Daphne at midnight - even Hermione had seen that - and trying to rinse himself of the experience? Was he in the shower, washing that dark hair of his?

Her thoughts suddenly drifted to something else.

No, Hermione, she scolded herself. _Don't think of naked Blaise. That's very bad. Very bad indeed._

* * *

Blaise only looked up from his Potions essay when a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ was shoved under his nose by Pansy. It was January the third, and already Blaise was tired of the new year.

On New Years Day, he had slept until nearly three in the afternoon before he had risen, showered, gone down to the Great Hall, consumed a vast amount of coffee and then headed back to bed again. Since then, he had repeated this pattern before deciding to get his Potions homework over and done with. That way, he would be able to concentrate on something other than Hermione.

She has no right to invade my thoughts like this, Blaise thought bitterly, underlining part of his notes. Not that she was using magic to worm her way into his head, no, it was as though she had become the only thing that Blaise could think about it, and he could not stand it for a moment longer.

She was infuriating. She annoyed him. She goaded him. She teased him. She treated him like a brother. She was not even pretty.

But somehow she had ingrained herself into Blaise's consciousness, and that image of her and Justin kissing on New Years Eve was permanently seared on his eyelids. Why did Hermione kissing that… _Hufflepuff_ annoy him so much? It was not really up to him who she kissed, but Blaise had a sneaky suspicion he knew why he was feeling like this.

Jealousy.

Not all things Muggle were totally lost on the wizarding community. One such thing was Shakespeare. Blaise's mother had a particular passion for the bard, and a quote kept rolling around Blaise's head: _Beware jealousy, tis the green eyed monster that doth mocks the meat it feeds on_.

Or something like that. Blaise had never been too good at remembering quotes exactly. Except for one. That proverb that Hermione had written in his Christmas card. He remembered it word for word.

"Blaise," Pansy said impatiently. He looked up at her.

"Pardon?"

"Just look at this." She prodded the _Daily Prophet_ with a pink fingernail.

KRUM FOUND the headline read, and for a moment Blaise was relieved; Hermione had been worried about the Quidditch star ever since she had found out that he was missing. Then he felt sick as he read the next line: _Quafflepuncher Seeker Murdered: Death Eaters suspected._

Blue eyes quickly scanning the article, Blaise looked at Pansy in panic. "Has Hermione seen this yet?" he demanded.

Pansy looked worried for a moment. "Erm, I don't think so. She wasn't at breakfast this morning."

She wasn't at breakfast this morning. Come to think of it, Blaise had not seen Hermione at mealtimes for the last couple of days. Even _he_ had managed to show up at the Great Hall when everyone else had, but her seat had remained suspiciously empty. He had seen her a few times in the corridor, but never at meals.

Blaise picked up the paper. "I'm going to go find her," he announced. Pansy shook her head.

"Daphne's already gone."

"Why?"

Pansy looked uneasy. "Look, Blaise, I don't mean this in a bad way, or anything, it's just that me and Daphne have noticed you and Granger get a bit… _weird_ when you're together. I don't really know what's going on with you two, and I'm not really sure I _want_ to know, but maybe you should keep your distance from her for a bit. Clear the air, you know?"

The dark haired boy settled back into his chair. "Yeah," he muttered, "I know."

* * *

The next time that Blaise saw Hermione was at dinner that evening. She looked pale and drawn, and he could tell that she had been crying. Her hair was pulled into a scruffy ponytail at the base of her neck, and her robes were crumpled and crease. She looked pale and drawn, and she merely inclined her head as a greeting.

She sat next to Blaise, pushing her food around her plate more than she ate it. When she did eat, she chewed slowly, as though she did not really want to be eating. Blaise passed her a bread roll wordlessly.

Hermione took it with a small smile, breaking it in half and beginning to pick at it.

"Viktor's dead," she said simply. She looked at him, brown eyes dull. He nodded.

"Yeah."

* * *

"I think I'm getting close," Hermione announced brightly when Blaise arrived for their Animagi lesson. It was the night before the rest of the Hogwarts students were to return. She was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, and Blaise could not help but notice the dark circles under her eyes. That morning at breakfast, Blaise had been too preoccupied with getting a cup of coffee to contemplate her appearance.

Now, however, without her robes on and her bushy hair pulled up into a high ponytail, he could see just how thin she was. Painfully thin was how he would describe her, in fact. Despite their growing friendship, Blaise wondered if it would be out of line for him to enquire about her health. Not being able to find the words to ask her, he settled for, "That's great." Then, he added, "Do you know what your form is?"

She looked abashed at this. "Well, I _think_ so; I don't really want to say, though, in case I'm wrong." He nodded in understanding.

Hermione handed him a book. "Professor McGonagall gave me this to look through. We've pretty much covered the first few chapters, chapter seven's quite interesting." The book was old, and the spine was coming away from the book. The title of the book had been worn away and when Blaise opened the book, its pages were yellowed and delicate with age. Tiny writing covered the pages, intricate diagrams interspersed with the text.

Settling himself down, Blaise sat cross-legged and began to carefully turn the pages in search of chapter seven. He found it eventually, the small writing almost illegible.

When an Animagus first completes the transformation into their animal form, there are often several difficulties that face the witch or wizard, the first of these being their clothing.

Many Animagi over the centuries have reported that they frequently found that their attire did not make the transformation with them, resulting in nakedness when resuming their human form. However, after practise, this only happens when an Animagus wishes to lose their clothing.

Blaise looked up at Hermione. _No,_ he warned himself sternly, _don't think about naked Hermione. Bad thoughts, very bad thoughts._ Perhaps he should make himself scarce when she finally made the transformation; he thought that Hermione would not particularly want him to see her naked.

"You look like you're constipated," he commented, seeing the expression on her face: a deep cleft had appeared on her forehead from where her eyes were screwed tightly shut. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at him indignantly.

"You're not helping, Blaise."

"Wasn't trying to," he retorted lightly, trying to focus his attention back on the book and not on thoughts of naked Hermione. _Bad thoughts, Blaise. Don't think of that._

The other difficulty is far more problematic. Often, the mind of the animal can overwhelm the witch or wizard the first time the transformation is completed, resulting in the…

Blaise reached no further than this, however, before he heard a loud _pop._ His head snapped up in surprise, and he found a small tabby cat standing where Hermione had been only moments before. Blaise quickly scrambled to his feet. There was another _pop_ and Hermione was back.

"I did it!" she whispered hoarsely, her eyes wide. "Blaise, I did it!" She practically leapt on him, almost smothering him in a hug. "My heart's racing," she told him breathlessly. Her breath tickled Blaise's ear, and he tried his best to quell any primal urges that had arisen.

Mine too, Blaise thought, arms wrapped around her. He pulled back - if she stayed in that close proximity, he was afraid that certain complications might arise, so to speak. _Damn hormones_, he cursed inwardly. "Well done," he told her, too stunned that she had actually done it to be any more eloquent.

"I have to do it again," she told him in a rush. The dark rings around her eyes looked even more pronounced now. She looked as though she could collapse at any moment.

"Perhaps you should rest, Hermione." Blaise could not hide the concern in his voice. "You're obviously exhausted."

"I have to do it again," she repeated, more firmly this time. The look in her eyes was purely feral and, for a moment, Blaise was scared of her.

"Hermione…"

He was too late, though and, a _pop_ later, a pile of clothes was at his feet, Hermione's Animagus form struggling to disentangle herself from them. Squatting down, he gingerly picked up the cat. Hermione purred contentedly at his touch, but as he went to stroke her head, she suddenly lashed out at him, her claws leaving three red stripes down his cheek.

The Slytherin gave a yell of surprise and pain and, as he clasped his hand to his face, he dropped Hermione. The cat hissed at him, tail raised, before running out of the room.

"Fine, be like that then, Hermione," he grumbled, removing his hand from his face. He looked at his fingers; she had drawn blood. She'd be back in a minute, he was sure, embarrassed by her lack of clothes and upset with herself for hurting him. With a growl of frustration, Blaise picked up the book Hermione had given him.

Often, the mind of the animal can overwhelm the witch or wizard the first time the transformation is completed, resulting in the consciousness of the Animagus being repressed.

Upon finishing this sentence, Blaise's blue eyes looked in panic at the pile of Hermione's clothes that was still on the floor, then at the door through which she had run. Not for the first time that night, all eloquence escaped Blaise:

"Oh, bugger."

* * *

**Thank Yous:** _Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter four - **Chaos-Fyre-Elf31, draconas, Sam Fisher's Wife, fire goddess, Raye-Rei, Lillianna-Rose, Flame Dancer, i-h8-sclub, ShimmeringEvil, Lousie, Spitfireness, mydream** and **Procella Nox-noctis**._

**A note regarding the lavender-scented bubblebath:** _I'm sure that a lot of people were looking forward to Blaise and his dungeon-flooding plan. I've chosen not to write it as it does nothing to advance the plot in any way. However, it will be alluded to in the story, and I may write a cookie at some point: keep an eye on the O&U cookie jar at FAP._

Love and hugs and coffee,   
_**silverphoenix**_


	6. In Which Misery Loves Company

**Disclaimer:** _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._  
**Author's Note:** _Thank you for all the lovely reviews. Reviews always make me smile - that was a hint, by the way. Constructive critisism is always a plus. :) Enjoy the chapter..._

* * *

**THE IMPORTANCE OF ANCIENT RUNES  
Chapter Six: In Which Misery Loves Company**

* * *

In a hurried, panicked rush, Blaise scooped up Hermione's clothes, running out of the room. When he was in the corridor, there was no sign of Hermione, feline or otherwise.

He swore, first in English, and then regressing into Italian. He had learnt that it was easier to swear in Italian at school - as the professors did not know what he was saying they could not reprimand him for it.

What was he going to do? Hermione was roaming the school somewhere, as a cat, her own human intelligence suppressed by the cat's instincts. And he had no idea what to do about it. Even if he was to find her, he did not know how to reverse the transformation and make her human again. Not to mention the fact that, even if he _could_ make her human again, he was currently holding her clothes.

There was only one answer that Blaise could think of, and he did not like it one bit.

McGonagall.

The Head of Gryffindor had been overseeing Hermione's Animagus training, but Blaise was not particularly keen on visiting her because, firstly, she was the Head of Gryffindor and therefore The Enemy and, secondly, because she was blissfully unaware that Hermione was passing on her teaching to himself.

Throwing away all thoughts of what the strict Transfiguration professor would say, he decided it would be best in find her. He would rather deal with her than Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Snape would not be a great deal of help. He strode quickly down the corridor, hoping to find someone who could point him in the direction of McGonagall's office - having little to no interest in her and never having been there before, he was at a loss to its location.

He decided to ask a portrait. Never having initiated a conversation with one before, he found it a bid odd. Choosing a portrait that looked somewhat pleasant, he tapped gently on its frame. "Excuse me? Could you possibly tell where Professor McGonagall's office is?"

The portrait, a young girl, eyed him suspiciously. "You're a Slytherin."

"I'm well aware of that," he snapped. "Where's McGonagall's office?"

Her eyes filled with watery tears. "There's no need to be so rude!" she wailed. "I'm not going to tell you now because you're mean and nasty and you're a Slytherin and I don't like Slytherins and you smell!"

An icy chill spread over Blaise's body, starting from his shoulder. He gasped, turning around and nearly dropping Hermione's clothes.

"You are looking for Professor McGonagall's office?" the ghost whom Blaise recognised as Gryffindor's house ghost asked. He nodded mutely, his shoulder still numb from where the ghost had touched him. "Follow me, then."

Blaise followed the ghost in silence, trying to remember his name. It was Nearly Headless Ned, or something like that. Eventually, the Gryffindor ghost stopped outside a door. "You'll have to knock, I am afraid," he told Blaise. "Alas, I do not have the capabilities to do so."

Gingerly, Blaise knocked. The door opened suddenly, and the severe face of Gryffindor's Head, Minerva McGonagall filled Blaise's line of vision.

"Sir Nicholas," she said in surprise. The she noticed Blaise and her tone became more serious. "Mr Zabini."

Nicholas, Blaise thought, _so that's his name_.

Sir Nicholas decided at that moment to sink through the floor, leaving Blaise alone with Professor McGonagall.

"Was there something you wanted, Mr Zabini?"

"Uh, Professor, well, you see…" Blaise could not quite find the words to tell her what had happened.

"Spit it out, Mr Zabini." She noticed the bundle of clothes that Blaise was holding. "What are you doing with someone else's clothes?"

"Ah, well… Hermione managed to… and then she ran off… and these were just there… and then I came to you." Blaise blurted this out, several words getting lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth.

McGonagall then noticed the scratches on Blaise's cheek, and she turned pale as she realised what had happened. "Into my office, Zabini. Now." She practically pulled Blaise into her office.

"Put the clothes on the floor and help yourself to a ginger nut." Bewildered by the professor's instructions, Blaise practically dropped Hermione's clothes. Before he could blink, McGonagall had changed into her Animagus form, and was gently pawing at Hermione's clothes. She then streaked out her office, presumably looking for Hermione.

Feeling slightly faint and ever so confused, Blaise sat down, reaching for a biscuit that McGonagall had offered him. He was not overly keen on ginger nuts, but he felt queasy and he had always been told that ginger was good for an upset stomach.

He was sat there nibbling on the biscuit for nearly fifteen minutes before McGonagall returned, human this time, and a struggling tabby cat in her arms.

"Can you turn her back?" Blaise asked, to which Professor McGonagall gave a scathing look as though to say 'what sort of a witch do you think I am' as she put the cat down, shutting the door of her office quickly so that Hermione could not escape. The cat hissed and Professor McGonagall said:

"That's enough, Miss Granger." She removed her wand from the pocket of her tartan robes, pointing it directly at Hermione.

"Do you want me to leave or something…?" Blaise started. However, he got no further than this before a blue beam hit Hermione. He quickly turned his head, shutting his eyes just in case.

The next thing he heard was a forlorn, "Ow."

"Put this on, Miss Granger," Blaise heard McGonagall say.

After a couple moments and the sound of material rustling, Blaise ventured, "Is it safe to open my eyes yet?"

"Yes, Mr Zabini." Professor McGonagall actually sounded rather amused. When Blaise looked, he saw Hermione, red-faced with a sheepish expression, dressed in one of McGonagall's robes. As her clothes were still on the floor, he realised that she must be naked under the robes. His cheeks reddened at the thought.

"I'm sorry for scratching you," Hermione apologised.

"Erm, that's alright."

"You can return to your common room now, Mr Zabini," Professor McGonagall told him. Blaise could tell that this was non-negotiable, and he left quickly. McGonagall was not normally a ray of sunshine, but he could tell that she was not pleased with Hermione having made the transformation.

* * *

Pushing her broccoli onto Blaise's plate, Pansy asked, "Any idea why Granger's not with Potter and Weasley?" Blaise looked up from his meal and over to the Gryffindor table. Sure enough, Hermione was not sat with her friends. Quickly scanning the table, he noticed that she was nowhere in sight.

The rest of the students had returned to Hogwarts that afternoon, and this was the first meal since their arrival.

"_I_ heard that she's in the Hospital Wing." Daphne offered her input into the situation, nearly knocking over a jug of pumpkin juice as she reached for a bowl of sprouts.

"Careful, Daffy," Millicent warned, moving the jug to a safe distance. Daphne grinned despite herself.

"Why's she in there?" Pansy asked. Blaise busied himself with cutting up his roast potatoes, steam curling out of them. He had a feeling he knew why, but was not about to share it with them.

"Violet said she fell down the stairs," Daphne revealed.

"Violet?" Millicent asked, brow furrowing in confusion; there were no Slytherins by the name of Violet. There was a Vivienne, certainly, but she was a third year, and had been home for Christmas.

"That portrait. Best source of information in the whole school."

"Gossip, more like," Millicent corrected before taking a large gulp from her goblet. "You'd believe anything you hear."

"I also seriously doubt that Granger is foolish enough to fall down the stairs," Pansy said. She paused, looking thoughtful. "Again," she added.

"She was hit by a Quaffle last time," Blaise pointed out, joining into the conversation. "That was hardly her fault." He put down his knife and fork. "Y'know, I'm not really feeling all that hungry any more. I think I might go back to the common room."

The three Slytherin girls watched in silence as Blaise left the Great Hall. It was not until his black-clad figure had disappeared from view that Pansy spoke. "What d'you reckon, then?"

Millicent chewed her mouthful thoughtfully, swallowed and then said, "He likes her, but the daft sod's too afraid to admit it." The earned a high-pitched giggle from Daphne. Millicent glared at her, and she blushed.

"She's quite nice and all, I suppose" Daphne said, "but it's a pity she's a Gryffindor."

"There's nothing wrong with Gryffindors," Pansy said tersely.

"They're teacher's pets!" Millicent told her scornfully.

Pansy had gone rather red in the face. "Not all of them. They're not all like that." She pushed her plate forward, slopping gravy onto the tablecloth. "I think I just lost my appetite."

The Slytherin prefect practically ran out of the Great Hall. A bemused looking Millicent speared a sprout from Pansy's plate with her thought. "Did we say something wrong?" she asked Daphne. Daphne shrugged.

"I dunno. She's just weird like that."

* * *

Pushing open the door to the Hospital Wing, Blaise was confronted with the smell of peppermint. He wrinkled his nose; it was particularly strong and someone really needed to open a window. Someone saying, "What are you doing here, Zabini?", also greeted him.

"Ron!" Hermione admonished, pulling back the curtain around her bed. She smiled weakly at Blaise. "Hello."

"Hi." he held up the book her was carrying. "I just came to return this." It was the book on the Animagus transformation that McGonagall had given Hermione. He had gone to fetch it after he had left McGonagall's office the previous evening, knowing that Hermione would worry about it.

"Thank you." She took the book and sat back down on her bed. She looked exhausted, Blaise noticed, as though she had not slept in three days. It was then that Blaise realised that Harry and Ron were staring at him.

"Yes?" he asked.

"You bought her book back, now you can leave," Harry told him in a flat voice. Was it something going around Gryffindor, or did he too look as though he was sleep deprived?

"Fine." Blaise turned to leave, but Hermione called out to him.

"Blaise. _Later_," she said in Italian. Blaise smiled to himself; even in a state of exhaustion, her pronunciation was spot-on.

"_Excuse me?_" he asked, following her lead and speaking in Italian.

"_Come back later_." Her Italian was faltering and hesitant, yet was perfectly comprehensible. "_I would like to talk with you_."

Blaise nodded and left, leaving Hermione alone with Harry and Ron. They looked at her expectantly. "What did you just say to him?" Ron asked.

"That he needs to get a haircut," Hermione replied.

"No, you didn't," Harry interjected.

"No, I didn't," Hermione agreed. "But what I said to him is of no concern to you." Harry seemed to doubt this.

"Hermione," he said slowly. "Are you and Zabini, y'know, seeing each other?"

"No."

"But you like him?" Ron prompted.

"I don't know." Hermione paused. "He confuses me. I mean, I get confused when I'm around him. Sometimes I think he makes my head spin, and I think I like him, but then I feel so foolish." She sighed, placing the book on the table beside her bed. "He's not like you two. I can't picture him as a brother-figure, no matter how hard I try. He's intelligent, charming in his own peculiar way and just a little bit mysterious."

Harry ran a hand through his dark hair, messing it up even more than normal. "Pity he's a Slytherin," he mumbled. Ron reacted to this.

"Don't be such a prat, Harry," he said. Both Harry and Hermione were surprised at this. "If he was a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff you wouldn't be discriminating against him."

"What's got into you, Ron?" Harry asked, bewildered by his friend's reaction to his simple comment.

"Nothing! All I'm saying is that just because he's a Slytherin doesn't mean that he's some Death Eater in training!" Ron's facial colour was rapidly turning redder and redder.

"Are you saying that I think that about all Slytherins?"

"Well, that's the way you act sometimes! Most Slytherins are just normal students."

"Ron! Harry!" Hermione glared at her friends. "Will you please stop it? I've already got a headache as it is." She looked pleadingly at Harry. "Maybe you should go back to the common room, Harry," she suggested. "Before Madam Pomfrey kicks you two out."

Harry stood, scowling. "Fine," he grumbled before sweeping out of the Hospital Wing. Hermione sighed; she would have to speak to him later. Ron looked at her apprehensively.

"D'you want me to leave as well?" he asked uncertainly.

"Not yet."

"Did you want something?"

"I want you to tell Harry about Pansy." Hermione looked at Ron. "He should know."

Ron let out a low whistle. "I suppose Zabini told you?" he asked, the tops of his ears starting to turn red.

"Yeah. _You_ have to tell him, or _I_ will." Ron could tell from Hermione's tone that this was no idle threat.

"I don't know how to tell him," he admitted. "I've _tried_, I swear, but… it's difficult, y'know?"

"I suppose."

The redhead rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I should probably go. If I see Zabini, d'you want me to send him in?"

Hermione shook her head. "I doubt if you'll see him." Standing up, Ron kissed Hermione on the cheek.

"You could do a lot worse than Zabini," he told her before he left. Hermione smiled as she watched him leave, and then pulled the curtain back around her bed. It did not happen often, but she had a feeling that Ron was most definitely right about that.

It was morning before Blaise ventured back into the Hospital Wing. Hermione, who had been sleepily reading McGonagall's book, smiled when she spotted the mug of coffee cradled in Blaise's hands; rather than missing breakfast, he had brought his morning meal - if you could call it that - with him. "Mornin'," she mumbled. He replied with a slight smile, before he took a large gulp of his drink.

"You wanted to talk to me?" he asked, taking a seat and crossing his legs in a casual movement. Hermione nodded, slipping a bookmark between the pages of her book.

"I wanted to thank you for getting McGonagall. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't."

"You'd have done the same thing for me, I hope."

"Of course." She bit her lip, pushing her unruly hair behind her ear. "McGonagall's getting Snape to make a potion for me. It'll put a block on me being able to do the transformation."

Blaise seemed confused by this. "Why?"

Sullenly, Hermione replied, "She says I've been abusing my body." Hermione looked pained as she said this. "I don't mean to miss meals!" she exclaimed. "I'm just so busy studying and working on the transformation that I forget what time it is!"

"I know you don't," Blaise said quietly.

"And I can't help it I get engrossed in a book and don't end up going to bed until two o'clock in the morning."

"I've done that before," the Slytherin admitted. He sipped his coffee, staring at her intently. "You need to be more careful, though. You'll end up making yourself really ill." Hermione was silent, and she began to fiddle with the tassel on her bookmark. Eventually, Blaise asked, "Is the potion going to be reversible?"

Hermione nodded. "McGonagall says she'll give me the antidote when I've 'learnt to respect my body'." She grinned. "I wonder if that'll be any time soon?"

"You shouldn't joke about things like that," Blaise said seriously.

"If I can't joke about it, what am I supposed to do? Pretend this isn't happening?" Hermione was exasperated by now, and nearly pulled the tassel off her bookmark. Blaise's hands covered hers, slightly cold, and one gently tugged the book away from Hermione's grasp.

"Don't want you to start ripping McGonagall's book, do we?" He looked up at her, one hand still covering hers, and Hermione decided that it really should not be legal for someone to have eyes that blue. She felt herself leaning forward, seeing Blaise do the same.

She took a shaking breath. "Perhaps you should leave?" she suggested in a whisper, realising what was happening. He licked his lips then nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's probably a good idea."

* * *

"Is she still up there?" Harry asked.

Parvati nodded. "Do you have any idea what's the matter?" Harry and Ron had stopped the Asian girl after she had descended the stairs from the girls' dormitories, closely followed by Lavender.

"Maybe," Ron said hesitantly. Lavender arched an eyebrow in interest.

"Anything we need to know?"

"No," Harry said shortly, glancing up the stairs. He and Ron knew from experience that they could not physically go up the stairs to see Hermione, no matter how much they wanted to.

"Fine," said Parvati, rolling her eyes. "Come on, Lavender - Padma and Su are waiting for us." The blonde flicked her hair over her shoulder, following Parvati out of the common room.

When they were left alone, Ron looked at Harry. "I reckon we should have a word with Zabini," he said. Harry inclined his head in agreement.

Out in the corridor, however, Harry and Ron faced a dilemma. "Do you actually have any idea where to find him?" Harry asked.

"Dunno. The library?"

"The Quidditch Pitch?" was Ron's suggestion.

Harry looked doubtful. "I don't think he plays Quidditch." He wrinkled his nose. "Maybe we should, um, ask… Pansy?" When Ron had told him about Pansy, Harry had gone strangely quiet. Then he had got mad and smashed a window. Eventually, Hermione had returned from the Hospital Wing, slapped him and he had kept quiet about his opinions on Ron's girlfriend since then.

He did not look overly keen about seeking help from the Slytherin prefect, but he knew that she was friends with Zabini. Harry was not entirely sure that Slytherins _had_ friends, but if they did, that was probably the relationship between Pansy and Zabini.

Blaise, Harry reminded himself. _His name is Blaise. That's what Hermione said, so I suppose we'll have to call him that._

That was another thing that Harry could not quite get his head round; he was so used to addressing Slytherins by their last names that calling them by their given names was a bizarre concept.

The Gryffindor prefect seemed surprised by Harry's suggestion, but he nodded. "Yeah, she should be in the library working on her Divination."

Indeed, at first they did not spot Pansy as the pile of books surrounding her blocked her from view. Ron gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and when she saw that Harry was stood behind Ron, she snapped, "What are you doing here, Gryffindors?"

"It's alright, Pansy," Ron assured her. "He knows about us." The Slytherin girl relaxed.

"Oh." Looking up at Ron, she said, "What did you want?"

"We're looking for Z… Blaise," Harry said, correcting himself. "Do you know where he is?"

Her dark eyes narrowed. "Why are you looking for him?"

"Because it's been three days since we've come back to Hogwarts and we've barely seen Hermione," Ron explained. "She's been spending all her spare time up in her room and we reckon she's mooning over Zabini." He rolled his eyes. "Blaise. Whatever."

"Really? Because I haven't seen Blaise looking this miserable since the time that he got a concussion and Madam Pomfrey told him that caffeine would interfere with the potion she gave him." Seeing the confused expressions on the faces of the two Gryffindors faces she said, "Nothing gets between Blaise and his coffee."

"Right," said Harry slowly. "Wait. He's miserable?"

"Yup. Miserable as sin. You think it has something to do with Granger?"

"Probably," Ron said. "We want to have a word with him. Any idea where he is?"

"Down by the lake," was Pansy's reply. "Swimming." She smirked. "He says swimming, but Daphne and I reckon he's trying to drown himself." She looked around, peering over her piles of books. "Speaking of Daphne, she went to get a book ten minutes ago and hasn't come back. I think she's got lost."

Ron grinned. "Thanks, Pansy." He kissed her quickly on the cheek, blushing furiously when he saw Harry's facial expression.

As they walked down to the lake, Harry asked, "Are we going to support this?"

"Support what?" Ron pushed open a door and they stepped outside into the January sunlight.

"Hermione and Blaise."

"I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't," Ron grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Cold, isn't it?" he asked, his breath making a cloud in the air. 

"Yeah," Harry agreed despondently.

Ron looked sideways at Harry. "You don't seem too happy, Harry."

"I've never… well, apart from Krum, I've never thought that Hermione was interested in boys."

"You thought she liked girls?" Ron teased with a grin. His cheeks had begun to go red from the cold.

"No!" Harry protested, hitting Ron on the arm. "It's just that… she's _Hermione_. It's weird to think of her fancying someone." The Boy Who Lived looked slyly at Ron. "So how long have you and Pansy been going out?"

"I dunno. Erm, September?" Harry had a feeling that it was not the cold that was making the top of Ron's ears red. "I first realised she wasn't the spawn of some evil Slytherin demon on the train to Hogwarts, though," he confided. "Did you know her parents were both Ravenclaws?"

Harry shook his head. "She always struck me as one of those 'Slytherin for more generations than I can count' types."

"Nah. Her family's actually quite young compared to some." Grabbing hold of a branch to keep his footing on the icy ground, Ron descended some stone steps down to the lake. "Can you see Zabini anywhere?"

"Aren't we supposed to call him Blaise?" Harry asked, scanning the lake.

Ron snorted. "I'll call him whatever the bloody hell I want to call him."

Pointing out at a dark spot on the lake, Harry asked, "Is that him? Pansy's right - he is swimming. The water must be _freezing_." He shivered just thinking about the icy water.

They set off round to where Harry had spotted the dark shape on the lake. As they edged closer to the water, Ron nearly tripped over. Steadying himself and ignoring Harry's chuckles, he turned around to see what had caught his food. Instead of finding a branch or stone, he spotted a pile of material. Picking it up, he found that it was a set of robes with the Slytherin insignia on it. "I'm guessing this is Zabini's," he said.

"Yeah, and I'd appreciate it if you gave it back," the Slytherin said, appearing next to Ron. He was barefoot, but was still as tall as the redhead was. He scowling darkly, snatching the robes and pulling them on over his wet skin. His dark hair was sticking to his face, wet from the lake.

"Aren't you cold?" Harry asked, incredulously.

"Only now that I'm out of the water. What are you two doing down here?" he asked pointedly, before shaking his head in attempt to rid his hair of the water.

"Looking for you," Ron said casually. "Any idea why Hermione is sulking in her dormitory?"

"That time of the month?" Blaise asked, pushing damp hair from his eyes and shoving his hands in his pockets. He avoided the gaze of the two Gryffindors and bent down to retrieve his shoes from under a bush.

"Even _I _know that's not the case," Harry said. He glanced at Ron, momentarily unsure. "It isn't, is it?"

"Not for another couple of weeks, by my reckoning," Ron said after a moment of consideration. "We think she fancies you," he told Blaise.

"Does she now?" Blaise asked, shoving a foot roughly into one of his shoes. "I doubt that."

"And I get the impression that Pansy thinks you fancy Hermione."

"Really. How interesting," commented Blaise dryly, making a mental reminder that he really should have killed Pansy when he had the chance; having her boyfriend and his best friend interrogating him was not exactly something he wanted.

"Do you?" Harry asked.

Blaise frowned. "If I say 'yes' will you leave me alone?"

"Yes!" Ron said eagerly.

"Well, fine. I _do_ fancy her," Blaise told them, not at all sure why he was revealing this to them. "But I really don't think she's interested in me." His expression darkening, he added, "In case you weren't aware, she hasn't been happy even since she found out the Krum was murdered."

Making sure that his shoes were done up securely, Blaise said, "Now, if you don't mind, I've got to go and dry off."

* * *

**Thank Yous:** _Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter five - **Sneezy Mouse, Hi Im Crazy, imogenhm, phoenixdreams, MissDramatic, alenchic, Broadwaypoetess, Magic Crystal Rose, Merit Somnia, crazley, IsLaNdMoChAgUrL, Sam Fisher's Wife, Procella Nox-noctis, trurockergurl, Mark of CTown, draconas, Spitfireness, Lousie, mydream, SkoosiePants, Samilia, JeanB **and **ShimmeringEvil**._

Love and hugs and coffee,  
_**silverphoenix**_


	7. Chapter Seven: In Which Hermione's Logic...

**Disclaimer:** _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._  
**Author's Note:** _As much as I hate to admit it, this is the last chapter of_ The Importance of Ancient Runes. _Never fear, though, for I shall be writing a sequel (I already have the feeling that this may turn into a trilogy) and I am currently working on some other Blaise/Hermione goodies. Check out my author's profile for links to Blaise/Hermione sites in the meantime._  
**Dedicated to:** _Everyone who sails on the HMS O&U and the members of quietones and slytherincross._

* * *

**THE IMPORTANCE OF ANCIENT RUNES  
Chapter Seven: In Which Hermione's Logic is Astounding**

* * *

Blaise Zabini was in a foul mood. He was in such a bad mood in fact that, when he looked into the mirror in his dormitory, he was surprised that he did not see a black aura engulfing his reflection. Pulling on his school robes, he descended the stairs down into the Slytherin common room, hoping to disperse some of his bad feelings with a game of Exploding Snap. There was something about combustible games that was very appealing at the moment.

Unfortunately for him, the only available seat appeared to be next to where Malfoy was talking to Crabbe and Goyle. More like talking _at_ them, actually, as they never seemed to enter into the conversation apart from to agree with the blond prefect. Taking a seat, Blaise languidly reached for a discarded copy of the _Daily Prophet _that someone had left on the table. Perhaps all the stories about death and murder would take his mind off one Hermione Jane Granger.

Inwardly, he cursed New Year's Eve. If it had not been for that night and Finch-Fletchley's idiotic suggestion that they go to Hogsmeade, Hermione would not have kissed Finch-Fletchley and Blaise would not have realised that he fancied her.

Ignorance was bliss, so they said. Blaise did not agree entirely with this statement, but there were times when it applied. Like now. That one kiss between Hermione and the Hufflepuff had thrown Blaise completely off balance and, even as he read the developments on the Krum murder case, he could not help but think of the Gryffindor.

"So, Zabini," Draco addressed him directly. "I hear you and Granger have been getting rather close. Broken her in yet?" Blaise could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Blaise asked snidely, not looking up from the newspaper.

"Don't even talk about my mother, Zabini," Malfoy threatened, starting to rise from his seat. Crabbe cracked his knuckles menacingly.

"I was merely inquiring whether you had to be so crude," Blaise informed him shortly, turning a page. The face of Viktor Krum blinked up at him, and he quickly turned over to the next page.

"Shall I take that as a 'yes', then?" Malfoy asked, earning low chuckles from Crabbe and Goyle.

"You should take that as a 'mind your own business'." Blaise glared at Malfoy. "My relationship with Granger," he found it odd to be using her surname again, "whatever it may be, is none of your concern."

Malfoy sneered at him. "Not getting any, then, Zabini?"

Blaise folded up the paper, setting it down beside him. He leant forwards, lacing his fingers together. "I talk to Pansy, Malfoy. Let's just say that if you want to take shots at my sex life, I have plenty of ammunition with which to retaliate."

The Malfoy heir blanched, pursing his lips; clearly, this was one thing that he did not want. "Very well, Zabini. Mark my words though, that Mudblood bitch will be your downfall."

"No, Malfoy," Blaise corrected calmly, a steely glint in his eyes. "She'll be yours."

* * *

Ancient Runes was probably Blaise's favourite subject. However, it was not until he reached the classroom for their first lesson of the New Year that he realised that he would have to sit next to Hermione.

He had been avoiding her, and he was fairly sure that she was avoiding him. He had purposely chosen not to attend their scheduled Italian lesson, and he had no way of knowing whether she had actually turned up.

Potter and Weasley had actually managed to get him to confess that he liked Hermione in a way that was not strictly platonic. As awful as it had felt to tell them, the fact that someone other than himself knew was relieving. A weight lifted off his shoulders, as it were.

Despite the fact that this weight had been lifted - even just partially - Blaise was not overly looking forward to sitting through a lesson in such close proximity to Hermione. He had nearly kissed her when he had visited her in the Hospital Wing; he had felt his heart racing as they had moved closer. Then he had felt the immense disappointment dropping like a lead weight when she had told him to leave.

Mooning over me, my arse, Blaise thought bitterly, entering the classroom. He was surprised to find that she was not there already.

"Zabini," a deep voice said. Looking over, he saw Theodore Nott staring intently at him, pale eyes unblinking.

"What?" Blaise snapped impatiently.

"Do you want to sit next to me today?" Blaise allowed himself a small smile, slightly embarrassed that he had snapped at Nott.

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking the seat next to his fellow Slytherin. Theodore was still staring at him, and Blaise was compelled to ask, "Why did you ask me to sit with you?"

"Look, Zabini, I know I don't talk to you much because, well, I don't really talk to anyone much." He looked sheepish. "But even I can tell that you don't want to be sat with the Gryffindor today."

"Her name's Hermione," Blaise said automatically, feeling a prickle of annoyance at Theodore referring to her as 'the Gryffindor'.

"Fair enough," Theodore said, extracting a bright orange and black quill from his bag. Blaise stared at the quill.

"Never pictured you as a closet Cannons fan," Blaise commented as he spotted the two black Cs just above the nib. Theodore grinned.

"I've followed them since I was little. Their training ground is right near my house."

"You and Weasley would make a right pair," Blaise said, remembering Hermione telling him about the redhead's passion for the failing Quidditch team.

Theodore shook his head. "We'd never get a decent conversation what with him being attached by the lips to Parkinson."

Blaise's eyes widened. "You know about that?" he hissed in a low voice as the two Ravenclaw girls entered the room.

"I'm quiet and reclusive, Zabini," Theodore said without a hint of bitterness. "That doesn't mean I'm blind."

When Hermione arrived, she did not seem the least bit surprised to find Blaise sat next to Theodore rather than in his normal seat. If she did, she hid it well, and took her normal desk.

Apart from the occasional sneaked glance at Hermione, Blaise managed to survive Ancient Runes. By the end of the lesson, he was at a loss to why he had not spoken to Theodore more during the past few years at school. He had a feeling that he had found a kindred spirit in Slytherin; Theodore even had the same disdainful view of Malfoy that he did, although he was not addicted to coffee as Blaise was, his vice being sugar quills.

However, he could not see Theodore becoming a friend; Theodore was a loner by choice rather than by default, and seemed to consider the people he knew as 'acquaintances' rather than 'friends'. He also had little to no interest in Blaise's personal life, something that would have been vital in a friend.

As he exited the classroom at the end of the lesson, Blaise heard someone call his name. "Blaise!" Then a tentative, "Zabini?"

It was Hermione. He turned around, and asked, "Yes?"

Apologetically, she said, "You dropped your quill." Hermione looked surprised at the sharpness of his tone. She handed it back to him. Feeling a sensation of déjà vu, he took it wordlessly, slipping it into his bag. "Bye," she said, turning.

"_Do you still want me to teach you Italian?_" Blaise asked. There was a slightly puzzled expression as she tried to translate what he had just said. He repeated the question, more slowly this time, although wondering why he was offering.

Slowly, still unsure of her use of the language, Hermione replied, "_I will think about it._" Blaise nodded, and watched her walk down the corridor. Leaning against the wall, he considered banging his head against the hard surface.

Perhaps if he just told her how he was feeling, then maybe things would be better. Or worse. In the best-case scenario, she would declare her undying love for him, and they would live happily ever after. In the worst-case scenario, she would be repulsed and avoid him ever after, thus freeing his thoughts and allowing him to get on with his life.

On second thoughts, if things came to the worst-case scenario, Blaise would possibly consider jumping from the Astronomy Tower.

When this particular thought struck him, Blaise was shocked by his own thoughts. Did he really feel that strongly about the brunette witch?

He was not sure anymore.

* * *

Hermione could not concentrate. German verbs were just not interesting, and her thoughts continually drifted towards Blaise. Angry with herself for not paying attention, Hermione finally gave up, telling herself that she could always borrow notes from Seamus to copy.

She took a fresh sheet of parchment and started to compose a letter to Blaise, half listening to the professor.

Blaise,

I would normally consider myself quite eloquent, but when it comes to writing this letter, I find myself unable to put my thoughts into words. Please excuse any rambling.

I have considered your offer to continue with your Italian tuition and, as much as it assists me with my language class, I do not think that this is a good idea. Neither is the continuation of the tuition that I have been giving you.

My reason for not wishing to continue is Viktor. That may sound strange as he is dead, but the fact that he has been murdered is the exact reason why we cannot continue. I once fancied myself half in love with him, as odd as that may sound, and now that Death Eaters have killed him, I wonder if it is my fault. It is well known that I am friends with Harry, and it would not surprise me if Voldemort (yes, I do use his name), was trying to get to Harry through me.

By now, you are probably wondering what this has to do with you. As much as I deny it, I have been developing feelings for you that are somewhat inappropriate. I am scared that you will get hurt. I think that it may be for the best if we keep our friendship as exactly that: friendship. Perhaps keeping our distance from one another may be for the best, at least for a while.

As I have given this letter to Daphne to give to you and have not sealed it, I have no doubt that she will have read it. She has a heart of gold, but she is an incorrigible gossip.

Hermione.

Re-reading her letter, Hermione wondered if sending it was the right thing to do. Screwing her Gryffindor courage up, she folded the letter in half, then in half again. Carefully, neatly, Hermione wrote _Blaise_ on the parchment. She pushed it to the edge of her desk, forcing herself to concentrate on the lesson.

However, the letter seemed to have other ideas. It was taunting her, just lying there oh-so innocently: a folded piece of parchment that held her secret. It was just waiting to be read, just waiting for someone to find it and discover how she felt about the dark haired Slytherin.

Picking it up gingerly, as though she was afraid it would explode, she carefully underlined Blaise's name. With that one stroke, it seemed to finalise what she had written, and she was able to ignore it for the rest of the lesson.

When the bell rang, she passed the note to Daphne, with instructions to give it to Blaise. The blonde witch gave her a knowing smile and scampered off to the dungeons. Hermione sighed, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder and heading to the Gryffindor common room.

Arriving in the bustling room, she found Harry, Ron and Ginny involved in a noisy game of Exploding Snap. Hermione took a seat, glad to kick off her shoes. As the cards that Ron was holding exploded, leaving a fine layer of ash across his face, Harry asked, "Do you want to join in, Hermione?"

Thinking of the homework that was awaiting her, Hermione surprised the others by saying, "Sure." Ginny dealt another hand, Ron trying to wipe the grime from his face with his sleeve.

"Where's Dean?" Hermione asked, surprised not to see Ginny's boyfriend in the near proximity.

"Detention," the youngest Weasley replied glumly. "You snogged Zabini yet?" she asked in the same tone.

Hermione nearly dropped her cards. "Ginny!" she exclaimed. Then, she looked at Harry and Ron, who were both grinning at her. "You told Ginny!"

"She's very persuasive!" Ron protested.

Harry nodded in agreement. "She put a Bat Bogey Hex on me - not the most pleasant experience, I'm sure you'd agree."

Hermione groaned as she threw a card down on top of the one that Harry had placed on the table. The Queen of Hearts. "No I haven't," she told Ginny shortly. "And if you must know, I won't be."

"Why not?" Ron prodded, adding a card to the pile.

"Because it's not a good idea," was Hermione's reply as Ginny put down the two of spades.

"He _is_ kind of good looking," Ginny said thoughtfully, after a moment. "In a tall, dark and Slytherin kind of way."

"Snap!" Harry picked up the pile of cards. He looked at Ginny. "We all know Hermione doesn't go for looks - she _did_ go to the Yule Ball with Krum." He paled, realising what he had just said. "I'm sorry," he apologised. "I forgot that he was… that Krum was…"

"It's alright, Harry," Hermione told him. "Sometimes I forget as well. Sometimes it doesn't seem real." She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if this is all just a dream, and I'm going to wake up as just a Muggle."

"If it's a dream it's bloody vivid," Ron said, putting down a card.

"I'd say it was more like a nightmare sometimes," Harry said solemnly. "If it is a dream," he relented, "I'm not sure I want to wake up."

* * *

Blaise always put his robes down to be washed on Sunday morning. It was a ritual that he went through every weekend; sorting out which ones needed to be cleaned, putting these with the rest of his dirty clothes. He would then check through his pockets to make sure that there was nothing left in them: he had lost an absurd amount of knuts that way in first year before he had started doing it in this methodical way.

The only time that Blaise could remember this routine being disrupted was in his third year when he caught chickenpox from one of the Ravenclaws in his Herbology class and spent three days in the Hospital Wing until Madam Pomfrey deemed that he was no longer infectious. After that, his laundry routine had been thrown off for several weeks, much to Blaise's annoyance.

There was nothing wrong with taking pride in your appearance, in Blaise's opinion, especially the cleanliness of your clothes. Clean clothes were as important to him as his personal hygiene was; you could not have one without the other.

Besides, neatly laundered robes that had been pressed created a far better impression than robes that were crumpled and had the remains of your dinner on them. It was because of his views that Blaise disagreed strongly with Slytherin rule number seventy: godliness is above cleanliness.

Pulling a piece of folded parchment from the pocket of one of his school robes, Blaise tossed it carelessly on his bed. As it landed, he spotted his name written on it in neat handwriting and underlined. Brow furrowing, he picked it up, wondering what it was. All he had was a vague recollection of Daphne handing it to him with a knowing smile. Thinking back, he had stuffed the piece of parchment into his pocket, planning to read it later. Obviously, he had forgotten about it.

He unfolded it, scanning it quickly. Blaise sat down heavily on his bed. Eyes wide, he re-read the letter, making sure that his eyes were not fooling him.

For once, Blaise forgot about his laundry and raced down the common room, where Pansy and Daphne were giggling sleepily over the horoscopes in the _Sunday Prophet_. "Even _I_ know that's not going to happen," Daphne was saying.

"When did Hermione give you this?" he demanded, brandishing the letter in a threatening manner. Daphne blinked.

"Pardon?" she asked, looking confused.

"The letter from Hermione," Blaise said through gritted teeth. "When did she give it to you," he said slowly, as though speaking to a small child.

"The other day after Languages." She wrinkled her nose. "Why? Haven't you read it yet?"

"Did _you_ read it?" he demanded impatiently. He was not in the mood for Daphne's playfulness.

Daphne had the grace to look surprised that he would accuse her. "Erm, no?" she said hesitantly.

"_Daphne_," he warned. "Did you read it or not?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air. "I _did_ read it, if you _must_ know, but I wasn't exactly going to _tell_ you that was I?"

Pansy looked at Blaise curiously. "What does it say?" Blaise handed her the letter wordlessly, flopping down into a chair. The Slytherin prefect read it silently and, as she finished it, she peered at Blaise with inquisitive eyes.

"And I thought she was supposed to be intelligent - her logic astounds me." Pansy re-read the letter, before staring intently at Blaise. Finally, she said, "Let me get this straight. Hermione Granger has what she calls 'inappropriate feelings' for you?" She handed the piece of parchment back to him.

Blaise nodded glumly. "Yes."

"And, unless I'm very much mistaken, you have 'inappropriate feelings' for the bushy haired wonder herself."

"I suppose," Blaise muttered, feeling himself blush.

A look of disgust crossed her face. "Then what the hell are you doing sitting here? Go and find her! Snog some sense into her or something!" Daphne eagerly nodded her agreement.

For a moment, Blaise sat there, stunned by what Pansy had just told him to do.

"I, I can't," he said eventually.

"Why not?" Daphne asked.

"Because… just _because_."

Pansy pulled a face at this. Then, she said, "You're pathetic, you know that?" Blaise did not reply to this and stalked back upstairs to his dormitory. It was all very well for them to _tell_ him to go and do something about the letter, but actually _doing_ something about it was a very different matter.

Sweeping his clothes off his bed, Blaise lay down, burying his head in the pillow. _Damn Ancient Runes, damn Hermione Granger_, he thought bitterly. _Damn me for actually liking her. Gryffindors and Slytherins aren't supposed to like each other._ He rolled over so that he was lying on his back and stared up at the canopy of his four-poster bed.

We're too similar, Blaise supposed. _Gryffindors and Slytherins are too similar, and that is why we fight so much_. Musing this over, Blaise closed his eyes, breathing deeply to calm himself.

When he opened his eyes again and looked at his watch, it read one o'clock. Lunchtime. He had been asleep for about two hours, and he sat up, stretching his arms above his head.

He decided to go to the Great Hall for lunch. Hopefully, he would run into Hermione. He found his heart beating just a little faster at the thought of seeing the Gryffindor, and he wished it would not. He could practically hear it beating, and he was sure that someone else would notice.

Arriving at the Great Hall - slightly breathless, for he had walked far faster than he normally did, he recognised Ron Weasley's voice and ducked around the corner.

"What're you planning on doing today, then?" he heard Ron ask as he drew closer to the entrance of the Great Hall. He was obviously not alone - the footsteps that he could hear led Blaise to believe there was at least one other person with him. This was most likely Potter, Blaise decided, as Ron and Pansy were never seen in public together. Besides, Pansy and Daphne had still been in the common room when he had left.

"Dunno." Blaise was somewhat surprised to hear Hermione reply to this question.

"Why don't you come down to the Quidditch Pitch?" Harry Potter suggested as the three of them moved into Blaise's line of sight. Harry pushed his glasses. "We're thinking about trying to get an impromptu Quidditch match going."

Hermione rolled her eyes at this as she pushed her plait over her shoulder. "You know I'm no good at Quidditch."

"You could keep score?" was Ron's contribution, as he slung a friendly arm around her. Blaise felt a tingle of jealousy at seeing someone else touch Hermione, even though he knew that Ron was devoted to Pansy. "C'mon, Hermione," he begged, eyes large. "We don't spend half as much time together as we used to."

"We're not exactly going to spend time together if you two are off zooming around on your brooms, are we?" Hermione was less than impressed with his offer for the three of them to 'spend time together'.

"But you could be like the referee," Ron continued with a grin. "You could tell us off for breaking the rules - you're good at that," he teased.

"That's because _you're_ good at breaking the rules," Hermione responded with a grin.

"What do you say, Hermione?" Harry asked in a pleading tone. "Will you come?" He clasped his hands together as though he was praying.

Relenting, Hermione nodded. "Fine. I just need to go up to the common room and get my cloak, okay? It's a bit colder than I thought it was."

"Hermione!" Blaise found himself saying, stepping forward and holding out the piece of parchment at her. "Wait!"

Sighing, Hermione tried to ignore him, even though Ron's arm fell from her shoulder and she could feel both Harry and Ron staring at her. Eventually, she said, "_Go away_," using Italian for extra emphasis.

"_No_." Blaise's response was short and sharp as he tried to regain his breath. "_I have just read your letter_." He held the piece of parchment out towards her, and she took it, fingers trembling.

Licking her lips, Hermione said, "_I do not want to talk to you_."

"_I want to talk to _you." He took a step closer to her, forcing Hermione to look upwards so that she could stare at him defiantly.

Out of breath and red in the face, Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass arrived in the Great Hall.

"_I am an idiot_," Blaise told her earnestly. She gave him a look as if to say 'do you really need to tell me that?' "_But I'm an idiot who like you a lot more than he should_." He moved closer still, and Hermione's breath caught in her chest.

"_I feel dizzy_," she told him in a whisper; Blaise was distantly aware that Daphne was attempting to translate their conversation in a whisper to the others.

"_So do I_." Blaise paused, biting his lip. "_I think that I am going to kiss you."_

"_Do it before I change my mind_."

"Blaise." The voice was insistent and it was most definitely not Hermione's. Blaise groaned, opening his eyes. "Wake up," the voice told him.

"I'm awake," Blaise said groggily, realising that it was Theodore speaking.

Wait - Theodore? Hadn't he been outside the Great Hall a moment ago? How had he got back to his dormitory?

"You were talking in your sleep," Theodore said. "In Italian," he added. "You looked like you were having a nightmare.

He had been dreaming. Looking quickly at his watch, it was only quarter to twelve. He had not gone to the Great Hall. He had not kissed Hermione. Everything was still exactly the same, and now he felt like an idiot for talking in his sleep.

"No," he said slowly. "It wasn't a nightmare; it was…" he trailed off, looking up at Theodore who was standing above him. "Have you ever had a dream that's really surreal - where nothing in it is even like reality?" he asked.

Theodore seemed to consider this. "I had a dream where Harry Potter got turned into a rhinoceros once," he volunteered.

That was certainly bizarre, but Blaise did not comment on this. Instead, he said, "Well, I think I just had a dream which makes reality look surreal."

"Your dream was perfect and your waking life is screwed up?" Theodore asked.

"Something like that."

* * *

The day finally came to hand in his Ancient Runes coursework. Flicking through the folder of notes that he had amassed since the beginning of the school year, Blaise plucked out the piece of parchment that Professor Mayfair had given him with the list of titles on. Even now, some of them seemed ridiculous. _NEWT ANCIENT RUNES - First Year_, it was headed.

One of the questions caught his eye: _Studying runes is considered a part of a well-rounded education. How far do you agree with this?_

His mind's eyes flickered to Hermione, and he pictured her doing the same sort of thing as him - re-checking her coursework for the umpteenth time. He pictured the way that her hair curled around her shoulders. The way that she scratched her nose with her quill when she was trying to decipher a particularly difficult rune.

The importance of Ancient Runes? he mused.

_Vital_.

THE END

* * *

**Thank Yous:** _Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter six - **Lady Draherm, draconas, Hi Im Crazy, NotYourAverageSchoolgirl, Norwegianne, I-LOVE-SPENCER, patagonia, slytherinphoenix7, Sw33t Vi3t, CrimsonEnchantress, crazley, MissDramatic, Sam Fisher's Wife, Lissie89, JeanB, Finnigan Irish, Procella Nox-noctis, Jesse S, LilyAyl, ShimmeringEvil, trurockergurl** and **wood-n-snape**._

**A/N:** _I will not be giving any guarantees for when the sequel will appear. I have several other things that I would like to write, and I would like to take a short break from this little universe to concentrate on them: I don't want to be stretching myself too thin.  
Also, Theodore's dream about Harry turning into a rhino is a reference to a couple of bizarre cookies posted on the HMS O&U cookie jar (the name of the author escapes me at present) - hunt them down, they're yummy!_

Love and hugs and coffee,  
_**silverphoenix**_


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